Adamant
by Galad Estel
Summary: This is the story of Galadriel born the daughter of the youngest prince of Tirion. It tells of what she gave up for power and the curse that fell over her family. Sometimes tragic, sometimes funny, and often strange, its filled with power struggles, betrayal, wars, romance, friendship, and death. Galadriel's POV.
1. Prologue

**This is the story of Galadriel, daughter of Finarfin. Many stories about The Silmarillion have been told in the perspective of the Fëanorians. I have decided to provide you with another account. This is the story of the Silmarillion from the perspective of one member of the lesser told half of the House of Finwë. A story that illustrates what it was like for those, who were not driven by the oath, but still lay in the shadow and the curse of Fëanor, told in the POV of Galadriel, the youngest of the House of Finwë and the second most powerful Elf ever born.**

"_But if of ships I now should sing, what ship would come to me, what ship would bear me ever back across so wide a sea?"-Galadriel, "Farewell to Lórien", The Fellowship of the Ring_

"_And now what ship should bear you back across so wide a sea? It will be a grey ship and full of ghosts." –Saruman, "Many Partings" The Return on the King_

PROLOGUE

I stand near the stern, gazing at the girl who works the oars. Her arms thrust against the dark, churning waters. They are slender yet strong. They bear several cuts, most scabbed over but some still slowly bleeding. Blood has crusted her fingernails. Her cloak and tunic are tattered and soaked in blood and water, and the ends of her wildly steaming hair are stained red. She holds her head proudly as the harsh winds beat against her, pelting her with sleet and cold rain, as the ships journey northward against the gales. For a moment, the girl looks out across the waters at something I cannot see, and a strange light flickers in her dark eyes, but soon it is gone.

I know the girl. I killed her a long time ago. Or did she kill me? I cannot remember.

I walk with steady feet across the trembling deck, and suddenly the girl turns and meets my eyes. A look of surprise, disapproval, and curiosity crosses her face.

_You __are __not __suppose to be __here_, her glance tells me.

_I __know, I __know,_ I say, _but __I __was __there. I __saw __it __all._

She stares blankly for a moment, or, at least, it looks blank, but I know those eyes are taking me in, carefully scrutinizing me. She has only one thing to ask:

_Why?_

Now it my turn to be silent, standing there taking in long breaths of the chilling air, reaching for wise words to respond, but all that comes out is:

_I don't know._

She turns away from me in disgust, but still those eyes torture me. I wish to comfort her, reach out and free her from her misery, but I cannot. She is too proud for that, too distant, too hateful. We stand apart, ages between us, but we are one.

"Galadriel, come back to me," Gandalf's voice calls from another ship, a white ship as the other, but this one lies on peaceful seas in the last few rays of a falling sun. I do not return. Obedience was never my greatest strength, or weakness. I look instead at the raging rain clouds. They circle fiercely over the struggling fleet there in my past. Masts are broken, and shattered wood is hurled down onto the crowded decks where the Noldor plead one last dying prayer. I watch as they are hurled by hardhearted waves into the gaping mouth of an angry sea, as the ships are torn to timber like little wooden toys, as death steals in through the fighting torrents.

I hear words spoken in darkness, fatal words that are like chains coming from my throat, words of damnation. They fill the emptiness of my tender soul.

_Let us be gone._

"Galadriel," Olórin calls, his words can barely be heard above the storm in my mind, "You must forgive yourself."

Still, I linger in the past. I watch as boats give way to shadows, water becomes land. I watch as steel blades clash under a newly risen moon, as cries and curses are killed by fire. Secret tears and heedless wailings join in a twisted pattern like the hair of lovers, so closely entwined.

Mists enshroud the sunken vision. Celeborn strides through them, proud and valiant, the starlight in his silver hair, as beautiful as Isil* in his fullness, but as he turns his face towards me, all I can see is the pain that I engraved there.

I turn from him and see my daughter, my darling, darling Celebrían. Eyes as cool as glass on a wan face, where lips, that speak of pain unbearable, press against a healing hand that can do nothing to help her broken mind. Elrond cradles her limp body. His eyes bore through my mind demanding a reason for this. I gasp and tear myself free from the nets of my memories.

"I cannot," I say.

"It will do you no good to hold this bitterness inside you, let it pass, as you released the others, now you must release yourself."

I am silent for sometime. He keeps on watching me closely, noting every move of my shaking fingers, as they reach again for the mithril ring that circles one of them. They slide it up and down. I feel that my body is separate from me that I do not belong to her. These actions are not mine. I have no control.

"Release myself?" I say, "Olórin, I am free as the wind! I have nothing to hold me down, no land, no power, no husband, no family, no pride, nothing to call my own – no, not even this ring."

I stare down at Nenya, who lies powerless on my finger. The stone of adamant no longer flickers as it once did but is frosted over, gleaming coldly up at me. I shiver and look away.

"Do you not see, Olórin? I have no fear, no care there is nothing left for me to fear for. I have lost everything, there is nothing left for me to lose."

My words run quickly from my lips. I sound fey.

Olórin touches my arm gently. "There is still one more thing you must give up."

"My life?" I ask. I laugh a dry laugh, pulling away from his comfort.

"Your regret."

I look out at the great expanse of Sea, at the foamy heads that rise and fall like the kingdoms of this earth. I taste salt on my tongue. It tingles the insides of my mouth and nose. I hear Ulmo's horn calling, and for a moment I think I catch Makalaurë's voice on the breeze, but then it is gone. I say nothing.

"Galadriel, what good does this self loathing do you?"

I turn and stare at his face. The creases around his bright, black eyes are even more abundant than I remember. "I have done you no harm, but there are others."

Olórin sighs heavily, as if he were dealing with a foolish child. "You cannot blame yourself for all that has happened through the ages. To do so would be extremely arrogant. For good or for evil, you have played but a part in a larger plan wrought out long before your birth."

"Yet cannot one be blamed for that part? You could say that Sauron only played a part in this plan of yours, and yet he was destroyed, and we rejoice."

"Sauron delighted in the torment of others. It would be harsh to compare yourself to him."

Despite his calm words, Olórin looks very uncomfortable. He does not like where this conversation is leading, is regretting having started it. He knows that I will not stop until I have won, until I have gotten him to condemn me.

I feel sorry for him but still persist. "Were not the first faults of Morgoth, pride and power lust?"

"You have always had a strange way of putting things, haven't you?" he says. His voice is mournful.

I do not answer him, and he is silent, his long fingers rubbing against each other.

Finally, though, he does speak again. "He believes in you."

I look in the direction that Olórin is pointing and see the Halfling, Frodo, standing quietly on the deck. His skin is sickly pale, but a smile crosses his face, as he smells for the first time the fragrance of Valinor. He is small, delicate.

"And yet," Olórin says, reading my thought. "He did what _neither of us_ could."

I nod. I stare long at the Halfling, wondering if he knows what he has achieved. He turns to us suddenly with almost childish enthusiasm.

"Is this it, Gandalf?" he asks in his clear, high voice. He waves his hand towards the sandy beach of Tol Eressëa.

Olórin chuckles. "Yes, my dear Frodo, it is." His eyes sparkle.

The hobbit looks at the land in wonder, as the ship is docked. I myself stare at it half dazed, feeling as if I were dreaming or waking from a dream. Our eyes meet, and Frodo blushes. I smile down at him.

"It's beautiful," he breathes.

"Ay, it is," I say. I feel his stinging admiration.

He looks down at his hands and sees there my phial, the phial of Galadriel. He holds it out to me.

"Here take it back, Lady, it is too beautiful a thing for me."

I stare at it. It shines brightly in the sunset, throwing off rays of blazing light, light that I had captured from Ëarandil's star, the Silmaril that shines in the sky.

I shake my head. "No, for it is a gift, and a gift is not to be returned. Besides it shall shine evermore brighter and purer for you."

Frodo nods, though he does not fully understand me."Will you be staying here too, Lady?"

"Yes, for a time at least."

"I am glad." He looks out once more upon the island.

Olórin moves so he is standing shoulder to shoulder with me, well, not quite, I am taller.

"So, you are not returning to Aman?" he asks.

"No, no, not yet," I whisper back.

"You have been pardoned, Lady, fully pardoned. The Valar hold you in high honor. The Eldar eagerly await your return. Do you not wish to go back to Tirion? Your father still rules there. He greatly desires to see you."

I look down, not wanting to meet his pleading eyes. "I do not know if I am yet ready to see him."

I climb from the boat out onto the beach. I cast my shoes aside and stray across the white sand. The scent of fruit trees in full bloom hangs thickly in the air, and the sweet sound of singing becomes clearer as I draw away from the Sea. I walk through the wood until I come across an empty glade. It is small and surrounded by apple trees. I lie down on a bed of moss and sink my fingers deep into, as I close my eyes and remember.

_Notes:_

_Isil is the Quenya name for the moon_

_Makalaurë is Quenya name of the mighty singer Maglor, Galadriel's cousin_

_Olórin was Gandalf's name in Valinor_


	2. Miriel

_"The house remember the builder, though others may dwell in it after" -old adage_

**Chapter One**

**Miriel**

"Findaráto, Findaráto!"

My small, trembling voice echoed off the walls of the long corridor: _Findaráto, Findaráto._

"Findaráto," I demanded, but aside from more echoes there was no reply.

I stepped cautiously away from my doorway and a little way into the hall.

"Findaráto, come here," I ordered. Still there was no sign of my eldest brother.

My family had recently journeyed from my mother's home in Alqualondë, where I had spent my early years, to my father's home in Tirion, and I had not yet adjusted to the grand halls of the palace on the hill or its many winding corridors.

Slowly, I crept forward, my small feet pattering on the white marble. I had forgotten which room was his, so every time I came to a door, I would listen for his voice or feel for his mind, but the rooms seemed all empty, and I wandered on, becoming even more bewildered and frightened as I turned on to yet another corridor. I knew that his room should have been closer to mine then this and thought of turning back but did not know the way. I hoped fervently that he was out walking, and if I went on I could find him. This thought renewed my courage, and I went on with even more determination. Yet, I did not call his name as I had before, for it was night, and that was time when people slept, and I did not want anyone angry with me.

I could not understand what it was about Tirion that disturbed me. My grandfather, Finwë, and my grandmother, Indis lived in the palace, and they seemed quite happy, or did they? I was not always so sure. Sometimes, Uncle Ñolo could be quite grave, but he was always kind and was often moved to tenderness when my father was near, and Anairë, his wife, was good friends with my mother. They could talk for hours about nothing.

Their eldest son Findekáno was a quite a bit older than I, and my brothers, Angaráto and Aikanáro, had already picked him as their hero. He was strong and quick of foot and mind. He had a fiery spirit, and at times his obstinacy was astounding, but mostly he was gentle, and he loved and was loved by all in Tirion. His looks tended towards his mother. He had her soft heart shaped face and almond eyes, and he wore his long dark hair in braids twisted with gold.

His brother, Turukáno, looked more like his father. He was taller and sterner than his elder brother but pleasant enough. However, Irissë, who was just my age, was intolerable.

There was a pattern of black onyx on the white marble walls like the silhouettes of trees at twilight. Their leafy branches, reaching towards the ceiling, could be seen in the pale light of the hanging lamps. There were real trees near the windows along the wall.

I had strayed into a dark corridor when I thought I heard someone singing in the distance. I stopped and listened, but as soon as I stopped the singing ended. I ran down the corridor and down a small stair, to another dimly lit hall. I heard the singing again, but it did not seem closer. The voice was soft and smooth, delicate yet firm, a voice that held me spellbound and bewildered. I could not tell where it was coming from. I was tired. I sat down on the floor, hugged my knees, and placed my chin down on top of them.

Across from me hung a tapestry, spun from brightly colored thread into a vivid and intricate design. It was an ethereal portrait of a woman. Her grey eyes were looking straightforward. They were so intense, I thought at first she could actually see me and hid my face. But curiosity drove me where courage could not, and I stared back.

She was beautiful. Her hair was bright silver and fell past her slender waist. She was garbed in a green gown with a chain of gold and emeralds strung about her throat. One of her bare arms was held out to her left. I looked to where she was pointing and found a dark wood door where a circle of lilies was carved.

Getting up, I walked over to the door and knocked on it. Since there was no answer, I tried the handle, but it was locked. I knocked again, harder this time and then pressed my ear to the door. I could still here the singing, but it was fainter now. I knocked again, but there was no answer. The singing had died, and I was afraid I had killed it. I sat down again in front of the tapestry and wept softy, hugging myself. The voice did not return.

I got up and touched the cloth, running my fingers over it, trying to figure out if it truly did exist. Suddenly, I felt a hand on my shoulder. I looked up to find Findekáno standing there.

"Ah, little one," he said. He drew me up into his arms and bounced me on his hip. "What are you doing down here alone?"

"I was trying to find Findaráto," I said shyly, smiling up at my older cousin.

He pulled me up higher and clasped me to his chest. "Why were you looking for Findaráto?"

"I had a bad dream," I said, then quickly added, "but I have forgotten it. Tell me, Findekáno, who made that tapestry?"

Findekáno frowned and looked graver than I had ever seen him before. I wondered if what I had said was wrong, but he did not scold me. He just held me tighter, as if he were afraid I would slip away.

"It was made by Míriel."

"Who's Míriel?" I asked. "Does she live here? May I see her?"

Findekáno shook his head. "She once lived here, but she does no more. She has gone away."

"Where does she live now?"

Findekáno looked deeply troubled and did not answer. He ran his fingers through my hair.

"Findekáno?" I whispered low into his ear, "Can you speak?"

This forced a smile from his lips, and he held me up over his shoulders.

"Yes, darling, I can, but not of this. That is for your father or Finwë to tell you, not me, do you understand?"

I shook my head.

He lowered me down and kissed my cheeks and mouth and forehead and tickled me, until I laughed and forgot for the moment about Miriel and the tapestry.

"Come," he said placing me on his shoulders, "let us go find Findaráto."

There were three Eldar kinds in Valinor: the Vanyar, the first comers who lived in Valimar nigh to the Two Trees, the Noldor, the Deep Elves, who lived in Tirion, and the Teleri, the last comers, who lived in Alqualondë near Sea. I had the blood of all these three, but I was the closest to the Noldor in mind: strong willed, proud, obstinate, and possessing an insatiable curiosity.

The room was locked, and something was being hidden from me. I knew that those two things corresponded somehow, but because I saw how upset Findekáno had become about the matter, I did not dare ask anyone else. My mind would not give up so easily though, and my dreams were plagued with the locked room. In every dream, I opened it.

Sometimes there would be nothing, and I would be disappointed, but most times there was some answer. Sometimes, I would find the lady in the tapestry lying on a bed. When I walked in she would sit up and smile at me, tell me she was so glad I had come because she was getting lonely. Other times she would be lying there asleep but never stirring. Sometimes she was frightening. She would leap from under the bed sheets and seize my arm fiercely, her eyes flashing and her fingers piercing into my skin. She would pull a grey cloak about me, and we would vanish into mist. Other times, I came into a room empty save for a box, and I would try opening it, but just when I had gotten the clasp undone and had lifted the lid, someone would come up behind me, and I would turn and see a shadow cloaked in black. I would wake with a start.

I do not know how long this would have continued if I did not have a habit of talking in my sleep.

Now Angaráto and Aikanáro usually slept in the same room, but one night they were in the middle of a quarrel. These quarrels occurred quite often and were usually vicious and quickly over, but this quarrel had lasted longer than usual, and they had decided despite my father's protests that they would not sleep together. Aikanáro had moved his bed into my room. I was not very concerned with my brother's presence in my room. As long as he did not bite, which he sometimes was inclined to do, I was satisfied. I curled up in my bed and tried to fall asleep. He lay on his back in his bed, his arms folded, mumbling something about Findekáno liking him better.

I woke around midnight to Aikanáro shaking me.

"Artanis Nerwendë," he said softly, "Wake up."

"What?"

"You were talking in your sleep," he said.

"I was?" I asked, my eyes wide.

"Yes," he said. "You were mentioning something about having to find her. Who are you looking for?"

I thought about. I could barely remember the dream, having been shocked out of it.

"I think it was about Míriel," I finally said.

"Who told you about Míriel?" Aikanáro asked in wonder.

"Findekáno," I said.

"What did he say?"

"He said that she had made a tapestry that I saw. He also said she had gone away, but he wouldn't say where. Do you know where, Aikanáro?"

Aikanáro looked away from me.

"I should not tell you," he said, "You are too young. I only found out by accident."

My eyes lit up. There was hope of having my question answered.

"If you do not tell me," I threatened, "I will get lost searching for her, and you will be sorry."

"You will never be able to find her," Aikanáro said glowering down at me. "She's dead."

"Dead?" I said. "What's dead?"

"It means she can't come back. Her spirit has left her body. She's dead."

"I wish she was not," I said.

Aikanáro was silent for sometime then he reached over and touched my shoulder.

"You cannot wish that," he said.

"Why not?"

"Because," he said, "if she had not died we never would have been born. And that is why Fëanáro hates us."

I stared at my brother confused. "Who is Fëanáro?"

"Never mind, little one," he said. He pulled me against his chest as he lay down beside me, "Someday you will understand, but for now I have spoken too much already."

* * *

><p><em>Quenya Name translations:<em>

_Ñolofinwë/Ñolo – Fingolfin_

_Anairë – Anairë_

_Findekáno__– Fingon_

_Turukáno – Turgon_

_Irisso -Aredehel_

_Angaráto – Angrod_

_Aikanáro__– Aegnor_

_Artanis Nerwen(dë) – Galadriel_


	3. Glimpses

**I would like to thank all of my reviewers for their their wonderful reviews. You are who inspire me to write more. A hundred times thanks! -Galad Estel**

"_Who has seen the wind? _

_Neither I nor you: _

_But when the leaves hang trembling, _

_The wind is passing through. _

_Who has seen the wind? _

_Neither you nor I: _

But_ when the trees bow down their heads, _

_The wind is passing by." _

_-Christina Rossetti _

**Chapter Two**

**Glimpses**

It was midmorning, and Findaráto was reading a poem he had written, aloud to Artaher, my second oldest brother, on the terrace at the back of the palace. Findekáno was teaching Angaráto how to properly shoot a bow, Turukáno was playing horse with Irissë, and Aikanáro and I were wrestling on the ground.

I was thinking how unfair it was that Aikanáro's hair was so much shorter than mine, in fact it was shorter than most of the hair in our house—short and stiff and not easy to grab like mine, but I was winning despite of this minor disadvantage. I had nearly got him pinned, when Amme walked out and called us in.

I reluctantly let my brother up, wishing that I had just had a few minutes more. Then I could have tickled him till he screamed like he used to do when I was little. My brothers were surprised and a little apprehensive about the way I was growing. Though I was five years younger than Aikanáro, I was nearly as tall as him and already as strong. My mother-name, Nerwen, man-maiden, did not seem to be quite ridiculous as it had when I had been born prematurely ten years earlier. Amme said that I had been a perfect baby just small. She said that I was just so eager to see the world I could not wait till I had grown.

Anairë, who had attended the birth being a healer and close to my mother, had not been so sure. She said that I did not cry for such a long time that it worried it her. Apparently her own daughter, Irissë, who had been born just weeks earlier had screamed like she was on fire, but I had just stared up at the sky as the Two Trees mingled their lights—I was born not far from them in Valimar—and then had very slowly and deliberately started crying.

"Stop dawdling and come in," Amme snapped, "I have things to tell you and things for you to do."

We gathered about her quickly not wanting to make her any angrier. Amme scrutinized us closely frowning several times and sucking in her breath sharply before letting it out in a long sigh of unrestrained exasperation.

"What is it, Amme?" Findaráto asked cautiously.

"Ai, ai!" she said shaking her head, "You are all filthy!"

She brushed a leaf from Findaráto's gold and copper hair and looked with reproach at his muddy trousers.

"Sorry, Amme," he said with a bow of his head.

"Sorry, sorry!" she exclaimed throwing her arms to her sides, staring hard at Findaráto. She then turned on Findekáno, who though a head taller than my little Telerin mother, took a step back when he saw the fire in her eyes.

"I thought," she said, shaking a finger at him, "You said you would watch them."

"I did, I was, I did not know they were not suppose to get dirty, I mean…"

"He didn't know that they were not suppose to get dirty," Amme told the walls, but a smile pulled at the corners of her lips, and there was a glint in her dark blue eyes as if she were trying her hardest to contain something.

"What is it?" Turukáno asked noticing it too.

She walked around the room in long circles teasing us, though her mouth kept on twitching for Amme was never very good at keeping secrets.

"Tell us," Artaher said widening his smoky blue-grey eyes, and playing enticingly with his pale hair.

"Yes, tell us," I said putting on my sweetest, most childish voice, stepping forward, and rubbing my cheek against her hand.

"Please, tell Aunt Ëarwen," Irissë said raising her voice to a frightening height. I believe we all shivered, for Irissë was a renowned screamer, especially when it came to getting her way about something.

"Do tell, Amme," Findaráto said softly.

Amme nodded and clasped her hands behind her back looking slightly nervous.

"We are going to have company today."

"Who?" we chorused.

"Nerdanel and her sons."

"Turko? And Curvo? And Ambarussa?" Irissë asked excitedly.

Amme nodded smiling.

Irissë squealed with delight and danced around the room.

"Fëanáro is not coming," Findekáno stated.

Amme shrugged and looked a bit agitated.

"Nerdanel said that he may come or he may not. It depends if he can tear himself away from his work long enough…"

"To visit the family he hates and wishes did not exist?" Turukáno scoffed, "I highly doubt it."

"His father lives here," Amme said quietly.

"He is not coming," said Findekáno as if he knew it for a fact, "Do not expect him. He will not be here."

"How can you be so certain, Findekáno?" Amme asked folding her arms across her chest.

"I know him. I know my Atar," Findekáno said calmly, " and I saw them together last week outside the city. Fëanáro is not coming."

Amme nodded, placing a finger to her lip as she thought of what to do next, then she remembered.

"Findekáno, Findaráto, take your brothers and make sure they get clean. I'll take care of Irissë and Nerwen."

They nodded and bowed and drove their younger siblings on before them to the washrooms.

* * *

><p>I looked around the washroom. Amme and Aunt Anairë had finished bathing us and had left us in towels to dry, while they bathed. Now they had finished bathing and were still ignoring us as they brushed and braided each other's hair, singing, laughing, and chatting as they did so.<p>

Irissë stared at me, and I stared back. She was chewing slowly on a strand of her straight black hair.

"You're ugly," she said suddenly.

"I am not," I said confused and hurt.

"You are," she insisted widening her bright grey eyes ever so slightly.

I shook my head and thought for a moment.

"You are just jealous," I said slowly, "because I am more beautiful than you."

"You are not."

"Yes, I am."

"Who says?"

"They do not have to say it," I replied rather haughtily, "They think…"

But before I could finish, Irissë seized hold of a clump of my hair and pulled it hard. I screamed with the sudden pain. Amme rushed quickly to my side and pulled me against her, whispering soothing words into my ears. Anairë sighed and dropped her brush. She walked over to Irissë and pulled her up against her legs. Irissë was trembling with guilt and fear. Her skin was even paler than usual, and her grey eyes had grown huge.

"I…am…sorry," she said her eyes brimming with tears.

I said nothing.

"Irissë, why did you do that?" Anairë asked softly.

"I…I do not know. I was angry. She looked so…I wanted to…"

She gulped back tears and hung her head. She looked at me wistfully. I did not meet her eyes. I pulled my towel tighter against me.

"What did you want to do?" Anairë asked.

"I don't know. I don't want to anymore, are you all right, Nerwen?"

I remained silent.

"I am sorry," Irissë said again.

I did not answer.

"Why cannot you two get along?" Anairë murmured in frustration, "Turukáno and Findaráto were born in the same year like you, and they get along wonderfully. What is wrong with you two?"

"I am sorry," Irissë persisted.

Amme looked down at me.

"Well," she said, "are you going to forgive your cousin?"

I stared at Irissë. She looked so small trembling in her white towel, her eyes wide with worry. She was jealous of me. I knew it. I could feel it inside of me, but now she was afraid—afraid that she had hurt me. She had wanted to hurt me. She had been angry with me. She had wanted to hear me cry, but now that she had, she was sorry, ashamed of herself. I reached out my hand and touched her shoulder. Then I took her hand, squeezing gently.

"I forgive you."

* * *

><p>"I am so glad to see you again," Indis told Nerdanel as she greeted her at the door some hours later.<p>

Nerdanel bowed her head low.

"The time between now and our last meeting has been far too long," she answered gravely, taking Indis's hand and kissing it. She dropped it without a sound, and carefully pulled her grey hood off her head. She pushed a few strands of her fiery red hair back in place behind her ears and looked about the room with eyes filled with curiosity. She lit on Findekáno standing nearby and smiled. Her ruddy cheeks were wet with the afternoon rain. The long green robe she wore was damp, and her shoes were mud crusted. She played nervously with her thin, gold wedding band.

"Come in," said Indis quickly looking rather flustered by Nerdanel's formality "Sit down."

Nerdanel stepped into the room followed by her seven sons. Indis took her cloak and pulled a chair forward so she could sit near the fire. Nerdanel dropped down on it and held her fingers out to the flames, mumbling something under her breath.

"Turko!" Irissë shrieked. Unable to contain her excitement, she pulled free of her mother's grasp and darted forward throwing her arms around Tyelkormo's legs.

Tyelkormo smiled and laid a hand on her head.

"Irissë, how is my charming, little cousin?" he whispered. She gazed up at him adoringly, and he lifted her up into his arms. He rocked her back and forth and tickled her under her chin. She giggled and clung to him.

"Where is Finwë?" Nerdanel asked.

"I am not quite certain," Indis said hesitantly, "he went for a walk but I thought he would be back by now."

"Ah," said Nerdanel and no more. She raised her head slowly and gazed into Indis's soft blue eyes. There was something about that look that made Indis suddenly change expression. She frowned and then bit her lip.

"Anairë, Ëarwen," she said turning to my aunt and mother, "Will you take them into the dining room? We will be there soon. I need to speak to Nerdanel alone."

Anairë and Amme exchanged puzzled looks but obeyed herding my relations out of the room. The last thing, I saw before I was pulled away was Indis pulling the drapes. Looking up, I met Curufinwë's eyes and knew he did not approve, but no one said anything, after all Indis was queen.

We settled down in the dining room along the long table. A dreadful silence choked the room. Only Irissë did not seem to notice as she sat happily on Tyelkormo's lap, playing with his fingers and asking him hundreds of questions about how he'd been, what he had been doing, if he had had any exciting hunting trips, etc.

Aunt Anairë went off to fetch some bread to give to our guests and came back with Ada, Uncle Ñolo, and a feast of food carried by the two men on large gold platters. There was roast venison flavored with lemon and sage, and smoked salmon enhanced by ginger and honey, stewed carrots, and creamed corn, and loafs and loafs of sweet bread. Wine was poured, and Ñolo struck up a conversation with Maitimo and Curufinwë on lore and smith work. Amme began discussing music with Makalaurë and Findaráto; while Tyelkormo continued to answer Irissë's questions, and the twins, Pityo and Telvo, referred to generally as Ambarussa, continue to interrupt him. I sat quietly eating my food and trying to take in all that was being said at once.

Curufinwë was sitting across from me, and on his lap sat Tyelperinquar, his little son, whose name was fondly shortened to Tyelpë. He was staring at me with his beautiful silver grey eyes, which were half hidden by his dark, curling lashes. His father kept on shifting him in his arms, but he kept on gazing my way. The fingers of his left hand were in a fist around his napkin and in the other he awkwardly held a piece of cake, which was half way in his mouth. I smiled at him, and he dropped the cake onto his lap in surprise. I laughed.

Curufinwë glared at me. He picked up the cake, put it on his plate, and forced the napkin from Tyelpë's tiny hand, which made Tyelpë utter a small cry, but his father hushed him and whispered that he was sorry.

Indis and Nerdanel entered the room. Nerdanel looked like a weight had been lifted from her shoulders; Indis looked like she had taken it. They both sat down quietly and started eating as if nothing had happened. Indis latched on to a string of chatter to hide from the questions that had formed in the minds if not in the mouths of the rest of us.

Nerdanel was quiet, but her steel grey eyes watched all and everything as if she could catch every movement, remember every detail of the room. Her fingers would sometimes move as if to frame something. Her lips would part as if to speak, but she said nothing. She had a curious way of cocking her head from one side to the other, to take in every angle of every face or hand or raised arm. Sometimes she would frown and at other times she would smile, but she seldom said a word.

"Ada," Findekáno whispered leaning in on Ñolo, who was sitting to his left, "May I show Nelyo my new horse?"

"You have a new horse?" Maitimo asked excitedly.

"Yes," Findekáno said with a smile, "he is strong and strong willed and stone headed, and he has a lovely chestnut coat."

"Actually he kind of reminds me of you," he added tugging on a strand of Maitimo's auburn hair.

Maitimo grinned and pulled away.

"Is that so?" he asked putting on an air of great superiority, "Well, then I'll just have to see this horse, but beware, my good friend, I may just get to like your horse more than I like you."

"What?" Findekáno laughed, "Whatever for?"

Maitimo's grey eyes sparkled with mischief.

"Because, my dear Findekáno, we strong, strong willed, stone headed red heads like to stick together," he answered grinning widely.

"I see," said Findekáno looking as if he totally disapproved of the idea.

"I am just teasing you," Maitimo said playfully kicking Findekáno under the table.

They both sprang up then, and Findekáno shook a fist at Maitimo. Maitimo made a fist then dropped it. He tried his best to look small and pitiful, bending the knees of his long legs and pouting slightly tilting his head to one side and whining softly like a hungry hound.

"Nelyo, you are silly," Irissë giggled.

He feigned shock and looked even sadder. Irissë giggled madly, and I sat on my knees, so I could get a better view.

Findekáno shook his head.

"My dear cousin," he said, "You do not know how ridiculous you look."

"Oh, oh," Maitimo said throwing one of his long white hands up against his high brow, "Now everyone shall insult me, and I shall be made the jest of Tirion for years to come, oh, woe, woe is me!"

"That you shall," said Findaráto with an amused smile.

Maitimo collapsed dramatically to his knees.

"Does anyone," he said shielding his eyes, "have anything to say in my favor?"

There was a dread silence, which was only broken by the snickering of Maitimo's brothers.

"Nothing," Maitimo choked, "they say nothing."

He let out a groan and bowed his head, hiding his face in his hands.

"I think…I think," I did not know why I had begun to speak but now my cheeks were hot, and I had to continue, "that you are beautiful, Maitimo."

"What did you say?" Maitimo asked raising his head.

"You are beautiful," I repeated, blushing harder.

"Ah, Artanis," Maitimo said standing up, his eyes sparkling, smiling a stunning smile, "I love you."

He bent and kissed me, and then he and Findekáno turned and walked away. The door closed and the room was soaked in the sound of laughter.

* * *

><p><em>Maitimo-Maedhros<em>

_Tyelkormo-Celegorm_

_Makalaure-Maglor_

_Curfinwe-Curufin_

_Irisse-Aredhel_

_Finderato-Finrod_

_Findekano-Fingon_

_Aikanaro-Aegnor_

_Angarato-Angrod_

**Would you be so kind as to review? I know this chapter was long and probably confusing, but it will only take you a few seconds to review, and it would make me so happy to hear from you.**


	4. Shadows and Song

**I would like to thank-you for your reviews and your suggestions. They are immensely appreciated. –Galad Estel**

_"Longer than there've been fishes in the ocean_  
><em>Higher than any bird ever flew<em>  
><em>Longer than there've been stars<em>  
><em>up in the heavens<em>  
><em>I've been in love with you."<em>

-"Longer", Dan Fogelberg

* * *

><p>Chapter Three<p>

Shadows and Song

"And the depths of her eyes were as the far reaches of Eä, but they were filled with a light of splendor. Her hair and mantle were dark but clasped with many bright stars, and the gown she wore was whiter than foam on Sea or snow on mountaintops. Her voice was like the sound of high flowing flutes, too beautiful to be borne."

It was early evening, and I was perched quite comfortably on a window seat in the library, reading aloud from an old story put down many years ago by my Aunt Findis. It was one of the many variations of the history of the Valar. Tyelpë was my lone companion, sitting silently by my side watching my eyes and mouth closely as I read.

"And in the depths of Eä, Melkor sought her, and he found her. And he beheld her in wonder, yearning for her beauty. He came to her then and spoke thus to her, that if she would bind herself to him, that they two would be the greatest in all Eä, and whatever she desired he would give her, if she but surrendered her spirit to him. And his voice was sweet and woven with his deceit was wisdom, but she looked into his eyes and saw there darkness, and she would not be joined to it but rejected him. And no love she gave to him but her heart was turned to Manwë, for Ilúvatar loved Manwë and there was no evil in him. And after the Great Music, she was sent to aid him. And Manwë loved Varda with a pure, undying love, and by this love they were joined, so together through the ages they are seldom seen apart, but are as one and delight to be so."

Tyelpë smiled and stirred, moving closer to me.

"But Melkor was filled with hatred for he was proud and could not bear to be scorned thus…"

"For already, Ilúvatar loved Manwë more, and now Melkor saw that all he desired would be given over to Manwë, the favored one, as it had always had been done," a bitter voice lamented.

I looked up to find Ñolofinwë standing near the doorway, leaning against the doorframe, a dismal expression on his sharp face. He fingered a letter in his right hand.

"That is not how it continues," I protested, looking back down at the page, "It says here that Melkor hated and feared Varda above all others that Eru made."

Ñolo shrugged.

"It is all in the way one looks at things," he said lamely, running his forefinger along a broken seam on the upper arm of his left shirtsleeve.

"You sound as you sympathized with Melkor," Tyelpë accused.

Ñolo jerked his head up and his eyes flashed.

"I have no love of Melkor," he asserted anger touching the corners of his words, "Eru only knows wholly what he did to our people but sometimes, I wonder if…nay, I shall not speak of this to you, child of Curufinwë. Why are you here anyway?"

"I was reading him the histories," I answered for Tyelpë, surprised by my uncle's rudeness. I had never seen him act this way before.

"I see. And does the great Fëanaro really need to send his grandson away from home to learn lessons in lore? Is he so busy creating works of wonder that he has no time to instruct his own family?" Ñolo queried, his voice was faltering now, as if at any moment he would break and fall in pieces to the floor.

"I like her voice," Tyelpë said softly, "She has a lovely voice, it is so very…deep. I love hearing her read. It is like being in the middle of thunder."

I praised him inwardly for not being angry and looked hopefully at my uncle. Ñolo said nothing but removed some papers from a desk drawer, sliding them into a pouch that hung from his left shoulder and stormed back towards the door.

"It is growing dim," he said over his shoulder, "If either of you intend to play in the garden before your father returns from the hunt," the last bit was addressed to Tyelpë, "I would suggest you do so now."

He left the room without another word. I closed the book and leaning over Tyelpë, I tucked it back in its place on the shelf. I sprang off the window seat and helped Tyelpë down. I took his hand and led him into the garden where the fading light of Laurelin danced on the marble fountains and silver basins, shining through the overhead leaves. The air was filled with the overwhelming fragrance of roses and lilacs and the sound of music coming from around the corner.

Makalaurë's voice as strong and the deep as the sea mingled with the softer sound of a harp. I could see him now, sitting on the edge of the top step of the crystal stair leading down to Túna's valley. The stair, which at noon would be blinding was now a soft, glowing gold tinged with just the faintest hint of silver. Makalaurë's eyes looked out across Valinor, as his fingers caressed the strings of his harp, but his mind was elsewhere lost in the realms of his music, taken for the moment from this world. He sung out his heart, and it floated across the sky, dancing in the breeze, laughing to itself as it sang of love undying, crying as it heard the words of shame coaxed from the earth and the rivers and the air, dying slowly with the burden of many sorrows that poured down like a heavy rain on his naked soul, and then when all seemed hopeless, defying what seemed possible in a body so frail, his voice rose again, higher and more powerful then before, mocking all limits, soaring up above the highest trees and reaching the summit of Taniquetil. Then with one last fall as if a bow, the song ceased, and Makalaurë pulled himself onto the grass. There he lay spent, trying to find his breath. His skin was a fiery red beneath the dark sweat soaked strands of hair that felt limply across his thin face.

I filled a pitcher with water from a fountain and brought it to his thirsty lips. He gulped it down greedily and poured the remainder over his face and neck and chest.

"Thank you," he gasped.

"It was beautiful," I replied.

He nodded and closed his eyes.

"Thank you," he said again weakly.

"Uncle," Tyelpë said softly, running his fingers cautiously over Makalaurë's white throat and down across the wet light blue silk that covered his chest, "Are you all right?"

Makalaurë opened his eyes and smiled up at him "I am wonderful," he soothed through grinning teeth.

Tyelpë nodded.

"Can I fetch you something to eat, to recover your strength?" I asked, feeling foolish and useless, just standing there watching him.

He shook his head.

"I am not hungry," he said.

"I'll get you some wine," Tyelpë said quickly and darted off before Makalaurë had time to protest.

I sunk down upon the grass and leaned my back against an elm. I closed my eyes and tried to remember the words of the song, but I could not find them.

"Makalaurë?"

"Yes," he said sitting up and looking about him as if he were lost.

"What song were you singing?"

He looked at me stunned for a moment then shook his head.

"I cannot remember. It is lost now," he said sadly, "for forever I deem."

Unable to think of anything to say, I nodded and pulled the skirt of my dress over my knees.

My eyes scanned the lands that lay beyond Tirion, and I caught sight of my cousins and brother making there way back. Maitimo and Findekano rode in front racing each other, their hair blowing widely back behind them in the wind. They were both laughing and telling their horses to ride faster. Tyelkormo, Curufinwë, and Finderato were riding more at a canter, chatting with each other. Ambarussa came last their game bags full.

Soon they were clattering up the stairs, laughing and jesting with each other.

"How was the hunt?" Makalaurë asked.

"Thrilling," Tyelkormo said dropping down beside his older brother, "It's too bad you sprained your ankle, you would have loved it."

Makalaurë shrugged.

"Did you catch anything, Turko?" he asked, twisting his fingers around a few blades of grass.

"Ai, I caught an antelope, but I gave it to a farmer, since we had plenty," Tyelkormo said proudly, tossing his golden head. He was the only Fëanor with fair hair, and he was quite pleased with it.

"And you, Nelyo?" Makalaurë asked looking up at his eldest brother. Maitimo's brothers smirked, as he scowled.

"He only caught a flower," Curufinwë said hastily, his grey eyes gleaming wickedly.

"I was after a deer," Maitimo snarled.

"He chased it through a thorn thicket," Curufinwë added.

"But he fell into this swamp," Tyelkormo put in.

"And all he came back with was a water lily," Findekano said, elbowing his cousin.

Maitimo rolled his eyes.

"You wouldn't have fared better with this deer," he grumbled.

His brothers and cousin laughed. Maitimo said nothing but took a white water lily from his satchel. It was a little crushed but still beautiful. He slipped into my hand and walked off towards the palace without another word. Findekano chased after him, teasing him good-naturedly. I watched him until he was gone and then looked back down at the flower, soft and delicate in my hands. It was so unlike me. I was strong and tall, taller than many women I knew, though my chest was still as flat as my brothers. My features were not soft but sharp, fierce and graceful.

Makalaurë and his brothers left to go inside, and I stood there alone holding the blossom as the light of the trees mingled and the nightingales sang. Finderato, at last, came across me—he had been busy stabling the horses. He stood there awhile just staring at me, a curios habit of his. He could read people's faces as others could read books. He took my hand, and I looked up into his eyes and smiled.

"My sister," he said smiling back, "You are a riddle, if ever you find the man who can answer you correctly marry him."

I stared at him in confusion. How was I a riddle? But he gave me no time to ask questions, for he lifted me up into his arms and carried me inside, not heeding my age or height, but treating me as he had when I was a small child. I protested but only half-heartedly. I knew that all too soon that this time would end.

* * *

><p><em>Quenya Name Translations:<em>

_Ñolofinwë/Ñolo—Fingolfin_

_Tyelpë—Celebrimbor_

_Makalaurë—Maglor_

_Maitimo/Nelyo—Maedhros_

_Findekano—Fingon_

_Tyelkormo/Turko—Celegorm_

_Curufinwë—Curufin_

_Finderato—Finrod_

_Ambarussa—Amrod and Amras_

**Would you be so kind as to review? :)**


	5. A Wedding

_"I give her all my love That's all I do. And if you saw my love, You'd love her too. I love her."_

_"And I love her" -The Beatles_

Chapter Four

A Wedding

Turukáno and Elenwë had been a subject of intense interest since their engagement a year earlier (actually gossip about them had started with their early romance in childhood), but now as the wedding drew near there was a hardly a place you could go without hearing something or other about the intended couple. Speculation as to what the bride would wear was, of course, inevitable, but Elenwë would not say a word about it, except that she was still working on it, which did not come across as a good sign to some, who feared the wedding would be postponed, and then there was the talk of who was to be invited and for what reasons. One of the most frequently asked questions was "Is Fëanaro coming?" This was answered curtly by the palace dwellers with "Yes, he is." Fëanaro, the High Prince of the Noldor, would be in Tirion for the wedding.

Finwë was delighted that his favorite son would be back in Tirion. Indeed, I had never seen him so happy. He talked about naught much else, even the fact that his grandson would soon be married seemed to dim in comparison, but Nolofinwë who sat on his father's right-hand side at table, every evening at dinner, pretended hard not to notice, and Turukáno, who seemed to have become more and more anxious as the wedding day approached, was actually relieved to find the topic of conversation shifted away from him.

"Artanis, would you pass me my hairbrush?" Irissë asked from where she sat in her underclothes upon her bed. It was the morning of the wedding, and she had three white dresses laid out before her and was trying to decide on which one to wear.

"Aren't you going to dress first?" I asked. I was standing in front of her dressing table struggling to do the clasp of my brassiere and was in no mood to be interrupted. I was getting very annoyed with the horrible thing for not only was it not letting me clasp it, but it also kept on falling down.

"I have not decided…"she said, then looked up and saw what I was doing. I could see her face in the glass. She smiled rather smugly as she got up and walked towards me.

"Here let me help," she said, trying to pry my fingers from my back.

"I can do it myself," I said crossly pulling away. The brassiere fell to the ground in our short struggle, and Irissë was able to retrieve it before me. She waved it in front of me and smiled triumphantly. I snatched at it but she jumped out of the way. She examined the undergarment and smiled, shaking her head and looking clever.

"Your problem," she said, "is that you have outgrown it."

"Have I?" I said sinking into a bamboo chair with a heavy sigh and folding my arms across my chest. It was actually not surprising. I had not worn that particular brassiere for several months, not since the last time I had occasion to wear a fancy, sleeveless gown.

"What is wrong?" asked Irissë with a little laugh, her bright eyes sparkling with disquieting amusement, "Do you not have another one?"

I had, more than one, but I had left them in my room with the bulk of my clothing. We had been in a hurry to room everyone last night, and I had lent my bedchamber to two of my younger Teleri cousins, so they could be close to their parents, remembering how bewildered I had been when I had first come to Tirion. Irissë, had in her turn, agreed to share her room with me, but it was not just that.

The truth was I was afraid of growing, afraid of how it would change things. Already my brothers seemed more distant than before. I no longer felt comfortable cuddling with them as I once had, and we seldom swam together, or, at least, now when we swam together we usually swam clad, or partially clad, and often they could go off together or with their cousins to discuss maidens. Turukáno was getting married, and Finderato had his heart set on a friend of Elenwë's, Amarië, a complaisant girl with no will to speak of, whom I was beginning to despise.

And then there was Tyelpë, sweet Tyelpë, whom I had always thought of as my baby, my little one, for as soon as he could walk he had followed me, and listened to me, and adored me. Now, now I knew why. He was in love with me, and sometimes when I was eavesdropping on the conversations of my elders I would overhear them speak of _our_ marriage. Then my heart would tighten for I did not feel the same, and I doubted that I ever could. Tyelpë and I never spoke of it ourselves, but sometimes I would catch his eye, and he would blush and look away. Our meetings had become awkward. I did not want to deceive him but I also did not desire to see him hurt, but eventually he would have to know. I only wished, I would not be there when I told him.

I looked at Irissë, who was drifting silently towards me as if she were an apparition from a dream. She had chosen the dress I had thought she should wear but had not dared to tell her, because I knew that those of our house would never listen to any but there own will. It was sleek and closefitting on the torso, and the skirt was layers and layers of fine gossamer that looked like the foam upon the sea. A belt of carven silver in the shape of flowers and leaves was about her willowy waist.

_She looks so much like Finwë, _I thought. Those wide, intelligent, grey eyes; that ovular face with its high, elegant cheekbones and regal nose; that proud, slender neck; those strong legs and arms, which were long but graceful, and that skin: pale and glistening.

"What are you thinking so hard about?" Irissë asked seriously her fingers stroking my shoulder.

Startled out of my thoughts, I said the first think that came to me.

"I wish I were a man," the words seemed distant, foreign, and entirely true; I could not believe that I had uttered them. I had never seen Irissë look so surprised.

"What?" she asked, her eyebrows shooting up as her eyes widened, "Whatever for?"

I shrugged, trying to shift so my hair would hide my madly blushing cheeks. I tried to think of any reason why I might have said it. Not the real reason. That would be too hard to decipher or explain.

"It would be easier to race," I said in faux sincerity.

"Race?" Irissë said again, looking suspicious.

"Male athletes do not have to worry about their breasts flapping up and down," I said gloomily, wanting to bring this conversation to an end and get my clothes on. Irissë looked at me as if she thought I was mad. Then she shook her head and sighed.

"And I thought you were actually thinking something worth hearing," she said with a shake of her head. She reached into a drawer of her mahogany wood dresser and pulled out another brassiere, similar to mine, "Here try this one on."

((((()))))((((()))))((((()))))((((()))))((((()))))((((())))((((()))))((((()))))((((()))))((((()))))

I walked quietly through the halls of Tirion. The gold slippers that I wore barely made a noise as they touched the marble floors. Now again, I would gaze out the windows to see what was about. I paused when I saw King Finwë in the garden talking with my uncle, Fëanaro. I watched them for a while my fingers playing with a length of a white lace curtain. I had never met Fëanaro but I had seen him a few times before in Tirion and Valimar and knew his face well from the portrait that hung near the door in the dining room. There were other portraits of the high prince in Tirion, of course, but this was the only one declared by Finwë to catch a glimpse of the great man's soul. It had been painted by Curufinwë's wife. If rumor were true, she was pregnant with Tyelpë at the time and being bored out of her wits, she had set out to capture what so many had tried to do before, to make a portrait of Fëanaro that would satisfy a man who was known both for his arrogance and his perfectionism, and had somehow through sheer determination succeeded. I had spent hours studying the painting, for I had very much liked the face, with its shadows and light, the soft and the savage, but I could not imagine what would happen, if I met the man it belonged to.

Now he turned my way, and I moved aside quickly away from the range of the window, my heart beat quickening. When I dared to look back he was still looking in my direction. For a brief moment we stared at each other, than he turned to King Finwë and pointed towards the window. I fled then, running along the corridors like a frightened child. I slowed down when I had turned a bend and tried to convince myself that Fëanaro could not have seen me long enough to recognize me later or that if he had he would not care. I hoped that he would not think me rude. I decided to go see Finderato. He would be ready by now I thought, and he was always free with words of comfort. I found him in his room trying to convince Turukáno to follow through with the wedding.

"Turukáno, please, calm down, no one is going to force you to ruin Elenwë's life."

"I just have this feeling that if I marry her something terrible will happen," Turukáno said waving his arms about his eyes glistening with fear and anger.

Finderato looked a little worried.

"Why?"

"Oh, I don't know. She is just so perfect. She is beautiful and intelligent and courteous and kind and so witty. She could make anyone laugh, and I…I could not make a drunken man laugh."

Turukáno was pacing the floor now, his fists clenched. Sweat was beginning to form on his high brow. He was already dressed for the wedding in his dark blue ceremonial robe, which had upon its breast a silver maple tree whose trunk ran across the center and whose limbs branched out with grace and majesty. His thick, dark brown hair had been brushed till it was smooth and glossy. He looked ever so much like his father. I wondered if Uncle Ñolo had been as nervous on his wedding day.

Finderato sighed.

"Elenwë is a sensible woman. I am sure she does not except you to be Manwë and Tulkas rolled into one. In fact, if you were, I doubt she would love you as much as she does now. Turokano, she loves you more than the air she breathes. She loves you more than life itself."

"And what if I fail that love? Do you know how hard a responsibility that is? I do not know, maybe it is better if we just never get married at all."

"And break her heart?" Finderato snapped back in frustration, "Turukáno, don't be a fool!"

Turukáno sighed.

"Maybe you are right."

"Of course, I am right," said Finderato indignantly.

I decided to leave them be. Finderato was more likely to be able to settle this if he were

alone. The sight of a woman, right now, might also make an impact on the argument, and

I did not feel in the mood to take responsibility if it were a negative one.

I continued to walk along the passage, letting my fingers trail across the smooth stone

walls or play lazily with the tassels of some of the wall hangings. I breathed in the deep

scent of spices coming up from the kitchens and sang a wedding song I had learned as a

child for the marriage of one of my mother's many friends. I paused when I thought I

heard voices some distance ahead. Deciding that they were not some making of my

imagination, I waited for the speakers to come in view.

"Ara," said one of the voices. Deep and warm it was, and you could snuggle in its

restraint like you could under blankets of soft, dark velvet, yet within it there was also a

pain, hidden sometimes, but never truly leaving, and, at times, it would

come through suddenly and freeze over you. This was the voice of Nolofinwë.

"Ara," he said again his voice kind and hurt, "You must understand. We are nothing to

him. He holds us lower than the worms in the dirt. It would not prick the surface of his

conscience—if he has one—to ruin this day for us."

"I wish you would not worry so much, Ñolo," came back the reply in the soft, high voice

of my father, which followed after his mother, Indis. Ada was in most ways like his

mother. He had also her height, her hair, her heart, her eyes, "Fëanaro came to my

wedding and made no trouble."

I sank beside the wall as they came in view. One of that things that I had learned about being youngest was that information of this sort was seldom volunteered. My father and mother and uncles and aunts and brothers had all endeavored to keep me protected, unstained by the conflict in our house, but no matter how safe or inviting it seemed I could not remain a child, for ever, and I had to know. I had to know who he was. I had to know who I was. I had to know.

My father and uncle had halted a few yards away. Ñolo turned Ada towards him, holding him at arms length and staring into his azure eyes. Light streamed through a window to their left and made my Ada's hair blaze like burning gold, and his emerald robes meshed with copper and gold shone forth with great radiance, but Ñolo stood in the shadows.

"I know. I was surprised," he said, his voice so gentle, "But, Ara, he does not hate you like he hates me. He cannot see within you his father as he does every time he looks at my face. He cannot forgive the hurt his father did in disregarding his mother and taking another wife, and I…I cannot forgive him for what he did to my mother…or to Findis."

My Ada's eyes were wet with tears, and he reached out a hand to comfort his brother, but Ñolo clasped the outreached hand in his and softly placed his other hand over Ada's opening mouth.

"I will not allow my son to suffer as we did," he said firmly.

"But when will it end?" Ada's quaking voice whispered back.

Ñolo pulled Ada into his arms and held him close against his chest, stroking his shoulders, back, neck, and hair, while kissing his face and ears absently as he gazed beyond him out the window.

Ada brushed his face up against his brother's shoulder, wetting the sleeve of Ñolo's robe with his tears.

"When?" he whimpered again.

"Shhh," Ñolo soothed, cradling my father's face in his hands. Softly he kissed him first on his forehead then on his mouth.

"When?" Ada pleaded one last time.

"Someday," Ñolo promised.

Ada shook his head and then lowered it trying to calm himself, gazing about him only half seeing. He gulped back his tears and forced a frail smile as he turned again to Ñolo.

"Then we shall try our best to make this 'someday," he said looking with intensity into his brother's eyes.

Ñolo looked down at his feet, shifting his weight from one leg to the other, but my father's eyes did not leave him. They continued to stare at him, sad and anxious.

"We can only try," Ñolo said finally. He touched Ada lightly on the shoulder, and they continued on their way.

((((()))))((((()))))((((()))))((((()))))((((()))))((((())))((((()))))((((()))))((((()))))((((()))))

Elenwë was a rather short girl, and shy, with soft blue eyes and a catching smile. Her hair was twisted back behind her now, and she was clothed all in delicate white lace. The satin sash that clung to her slender waist was a blend of pink and apricot. Her hands trembled, and her knees shook as she walked towards Turokano, but her eyes looked steadily into his, and when their hands met there was such strength in their grasp. Their silver rings were taken off, and gold ones were put on. And their love they vowed to each other forever.

Her cheeks were blushing. His were pale. Their fingers touching, their bodies brushing in the shadows of the twilight, and in his hand he took her arm and led her away down the stairs of Tirion and across the fields below until they blended with the shadows and were lost to the sight of all.

Then music, untamed and beautiful, sprung from harp and flute and viol, and wine was poured out like water. I felt my feet flying caught in the rhythm of a wildly beating drum. I threw my legs up, and then bent backwards and touched my heels, twirling and leaping, faster and faster. Voices were lifted up with the song of the instruments, and I was lost in a world of their making. I felt such power and terror creep over me. I was mad and in love and alive all at once. Closing my eyes, dancing blind, my hair streaming behind and about me. I felt a hand catch mine in the darkness, and I turned and looked into the eyes of Fëanaro.

_Quenya Translations:_

_Turukano-Turgon_

_Arafinwe/Ara-Finarfin_

_Nolofinwe/Nolo-Fingolfin_

_Feanaro-Feanor_

_Tyelpe-Celebrimbor_

_Finderato-Finrod_

_Irisse-Aredhel_


	6. Feanaro

**_I would like to thank you, as always for your reviews and suggestions, they are forever appreciated. My writing lives off your encouragement. This is the first chapter in which I have Fëanor. He will play an important part in at least the beginning part of this work, so I need to make sure he works. Please tell me what you think of him. Thanks –Galad Estel_**

"And the stars in the sky don't mean nothing to you, they're mirrors…" "I don't want to talk about it" -Danny Whitten

**Chapter Five**

** Fëanaro**

What could I say of him but that he was beautiful? His high brows rose like the wings of a proud eagle over his infinite eyes. Eyes so bright and piercing that they could burn right through your skin and sear your soul. Nothing could compass him, and his shadow enveloped all those about him. He was so high; no one could reach him. Beside him, I felt small and unimportant. I loathed the feeling.

"Dance with me," he commanded. His voice was so rich you could taste it; warm and sensual like heated wine. He spoke as if he owned the words. I could not refuse.

I felt his spirit within my mind like a blazing fire, so strong I thought it would devour me. Desperately I wanted to shrink away and be rid of it, but another part of me held, still too proud to flee, afraid of being called a coward, but also craving knowledge of this being, whose thoughts were only guessed at. In and out we wove, mind and body, but the deeper I probed the more powerless I felt. All I could feel was heat; all I could see was darkness, blinded by the light in his eyes. My body was burning. My hand trembled in his, and then for a moment it seemed there was nothing, as if void had opened up and swallowed the two of us. I felt as if I had been emptied. I was lost, forever lost, climbing in the dark, the ground crumbling beneath my feet.

Gasping with terror, I pulled away. Evening was falling fast around us, and the wind had picked up speed, promising a storm to come.

"Tired?" Fëanaro asked.

I nodded, catching my breath. A few raindrops warm but cooler than my skin hit me. I wished that I could drink them. My throat and mouth were parched.

"You dance well," he mumbled looking away from me.

"Thank you," I said hoarsely.

"Are you thirsty?" he asked turning back to me.

I nodded. Softly he again took my hand and let me lean against his shoulder. He sat me down beside a tree and left me.

I sat there, wondering if he would return, hoping that he would not. I imagined him getting lost in a conversation with his father or wife. This thought comforted me. I tried to convince myself that nothing had happened. What I saw had just been a dream, but I could not believe it. I wondered how long we had danced. I was exhausted. The gown I had been wearing was now glued to my skin by my sweat. I lay down on the damp grass and pulled its skirt off from my legs so that it spread about me. _Its pattern of gold leaves and flowers would blend better,_ I mused,_ if the dress were green instead of orange_.

Yawning, I lay my head down and stared up at the sky. Grey clouds were racing there, and the rain was coming down at steady pace. I wondered if Manwë and Ulmo were enjoying themselves. I loved the rain, the sound of it hitting the leaves overhead, the smell of wet grass.

I turned over onto my side and looked about me. Maitimo was telling a story to a throng of gaily laughing maidens, his hands flying this way and that, his eyes sparkling with pleasure and excitement. I wondered what it would be like to be there, but I could not bring myself to move so I could fawn over a man who I knew would never be mine. I recognized one of the girls as Alassëa, the daughter of my mother's youngest brother, Ilmarinen. She was gaping at him with youthful infatuation. Not far from her stood Findekáno, whose eyes, filled with love and admiration, lingered on Maitimo's face. He was not listening to the story, for he had heard it many times before, but every moment that he could be close to his friend was precious to him. I smiled softly, and my eyes darted quickly about looking to find Tyelpë. He was standing silently by his father's side looking rather bored and out of place. The black satin and velvet he wore made him look like a shadow of his father, and my heart moved with pity for him, wishing that he had not been born with such a burden – to be the son of a great smith, who was the son of a greater one, the shadow of a shadow. I tried to catch his attention, but he was looking the other way. I sighed. Findaráto was still dancing, slowly now, with Amarië, who had her arms wrapped tightly about his neck and was whispering things in his ear that made him smile.

"I forgot to ask if you preferred red or white wine."

I looked at the shoe that had been quietly placed near my head. Muddied a little by the wet garden, it was formed from black leather and came to a rounded point at the toes, with a small, intricate design of gold and diamonds at its back.

"I would have been content with water," I told him quickly sitting up, "it quenches thirst the quickest."

"Water, at a wedding?" Fëanaro scoffed as he carefully sat down, avoiding the roots of the tree.

"Fine, white wine then."

Fëanaro smiled and poured me a glass.

"That," he said, handing it to me, "indicates a sweet and _weak_ disposition."

I drank a few mouthfuls of the mead before answering.

"It could also represent clearly knowing what you want."

"I suppose," he answered, sounding rather bored and laying a silver tray he had been balancing on his knees on the ground, "are you hungry?" He indicated to the tray laden with bread, cheese, meat, and fruit.

"Thank you, but no, I am not hungry."

"Would you mind if I ate?"

"No, of course, not."

"Good," he said, picking up a fig.

I was quite puzzled as to his behavior, and wondered if it would be very rude to leave him. After all he did not seem to enjoy my company, and I did not enjoy his. I, however, found myself intrigued by the design on his shirt. All of his clothing was rather eye catching, but this close-fitting scarlet tunic with its design of leaping tigers and golden trees was so brilliantly stitched that I was sure Miriel must have made it. I began comparing the neat, tiny stitches to those I had seen on wall hangings in Tirion.

"Do you always stare so hard at people when they eat?" he asked after a moment of silence.

I shook my head and looked down at my lap. I could not ask him about the seamstress, for Miriel, as a rule, was never mentioned in the House of Finwë.

I could feel his eyes on me, scrutinizing me.

"I am sorry, if I frightened you earlier, but it really is your fault," he said quietly.

I looked up startled.

"You should not dig so deep into the thoughts of others," he scolded, "anyone would think you were one of the Valar."

He spoke as if being called a Valar were an insult.

"You were the one who made contact first," I said, rather irritated.

"Only because I wanted to know something that I assumed would be present near the forefront of your mind when I startled you," he said, as if it were a perfectly sound reason. He ripped off another chunk of bread and poured himself a glass of red wine.

"And what was that?"

"Why you were spying on me earlier."

"I was not spying," I said reproachfully, though in truth I did not know what else to call it.

"Then whatever you were doing…"

"Why could you not have just asked me?"

"I wanted a clear, honest answer."

"Do you think I would deceive you?"

"I do not know," he said looking at me with a glint of suspicion in his dark grey eyes. "I do not know you."

"Well, did you get your answer?" I asked, straining to make my face expressionless.

Fëanaro shifted uneasily and set his goblet down, now drained.

"No," he said slowly, which I found strange, since he had been speaking quite quickly before, "I saw many other things, but no, it was all so fast I did not get my answer. What were you doing?"

I took three long sips of the mead, finished it, and placed the glass down near my left foot. Unable to come up with a differing reason from the truth, I shrugged my shoulders and admitted:

"I was spying on you."

An odd mixture of suspicion and amusement contorted Fëanaro's face.

"Does someone at the palace hire you to spy on me?"

"No," I said shaking my head, "no, of course, not. It's not just you, I spy on everyone."

"Maybe, I should have just brought you water," he laughed.

Then without a word of warning, gently he tilted my head up, pressing his long, sinewy fingers up against my cheek; his breath was warm and clean.

"Whose daughter are you anyway?" he asked, moving my head from side to side and examining its features.

I opened my mouth, but he pressed his fingertips against it.

"No, let me guess," he said.

I closed my mouth and looked past him over his shoulder at Maitimo, who was staring at us quizzically.

"Well," Fëanaro said, speaking to himself as if I were not there at all,"these are definitely Olwë's eyes, the structure and color, such a beautiful blue, and these lips, I believe are Telerin, but this nose and the chin are most definitely Noldorin, no use arguing against that."

He ran his fingers through my hair looking thoughtful.

"An amazing color," he continued, "this blend of gold and silver, and it seems to gleam on its own, shining even now on this gloomy day, as if somehow the light of the Trees had been enmeshed in its tresses."

"Many have said so," I said, pulling back away from him, "as for my parentage, I am the daughter of Eärwen and Arafinwë. Tell me, do you always speak of other people when you are with them, or am I only given this honor?"

"You have a sharp tongue, daughter of Arafinwë," Fëanaro said, his lips pressed in a frown.

"Thank you," I answered solemnly.

"You are welcome," he replied, filling his glass a second time with red wine. He filled mine as well, and we took our first sip together, peering suspiciously over the top of our glasses at each other.

"So," he said setting his glass down, "you are the maiden Tyelpë is constantly speaking of. You are an athlete, correct?"

I nodded.

"And do you hunt?" he asked, sliding his fingers around a pear and piercing his nails into its soft flesh until juice came pouring out.

"No," I said shaking my head, "that is Irissë's sport. I much prefer running and swimming."

"And hurling your opponents to the ground and pinning them in a small amount of time, or so I have heard," Fëanaro said with a smile.

I smiled but said nothing.

"Do you think," he asked almost mischievously, "that you could pin me?"

"I have no idea," I said.

"Well, you could try, couldn't you?" he asked.

I hesitated. Fëanaro was a tall man with the strong arms and hands of a smith. His muscles were lean but strong, but his legs were not as well developed as his upper limbs, a smith need not move his legs a lot when he is at work, and his other occupation was that of a lore master, which involved a greater use of mind than body. I did not think from what I could see that he was as strong as Ñolo, who I had, on occasion, been able to pin. Yet, it did not seem somehow appropriate to wrestle with my uncle at my cousin's wedding, even in sport. I was saved from answering by a still, small voice.

"Nerwen." It was Artaher.

"Yes?" I said, turning to my brother.

"Amme wants to see you," he said quietly, looking at Fëanaro with wide eyes as if he expected him to bite him.

"Thank you," I said, swiftly rising to my feet. I turned momentarily to bid farewell to Fëanaro.

"Good day, Lord Fëanaro," I said.

"Farwell, my niece."

* * *

><p><em>Quenya name translations:<em>

Feanaro-Feanor

_Maitimo-Maedhros_

_Findekano-Fingon_

_Tyelpe-Celebrimbor_

_Finderato-Finrod_

_Artaher-Oredreth_


	7. Indis

**I am so glad you guys liked Fëanáro, thank you for all your splendid reviews! Here finally is another chapter. I had hard work with this one. I hope you enjoy-Galad Estel**

Chapter Six

Indis

She looked so still, could I have really heard her cry? Her face bore a fixed expression like a doll's, with the lips unusually straight but tilted upward at the corners, her eyes half shut staring at the smooth white hands that lay one on top of the other on her lap. Her thick gold hair fell in a loose mess about her bare shoulders, glowing softly in the candlelight. She wore but a simple white shift.

"What is it, Artanis?" she asked not bothering to look up.

"I was wondering if there was something I could get you, my lady," I said quietly from the doorway, behind me the hall was black and cold. I had been wondering through it for some time trying to rid myself of a restlessness that had robbed me of my rightful sleep.

"No," she answered, slowly lifting her face to stare at me, "no, I do not believe so."

I could see now that she had been crying. Her eyes and nose were red, while a few teardrops still clung to her pale cheeks. She quickly brushed these aside and stood up slowly, walking across the room, pretending to set things in order to hide her face from me. I knew that I should go; yet I could not bear to leave her crying all alone.

"Is there something wrong, my queen?" I asked dipping my head ceremoniously before her. As she turned to me, I could see her eyes alight with anger and then grow cold.

"Do you mock me?" she asked, her voice slow and wavering.

The words stung me, and I stepped back, away from her, bending my head once again.

"No, of course not, why would I mock you?"

Her lips parted then closed, then opened again, all the while, her sky blue eyes stared at mine as if to read the truth. I kept her gaze with ease, but she turned from me as she spoke.

"I am no queen."

"Of course, you are," I answered quickly.

"No, Artanis, daughter of my son," Indis said sighing heavily, "I am not. No, do not speak, do not contradict me," she reached out and touched my arm running her fingers along it soothingly until she had my hand clasped in hers, "if I were queen I would know how to make things right. I would stand without fear, and not tremble and hide behind my husband's name, nor bow before his son. I would hold my ground for ever, but already I am wearied with fighting, and he will take nothing but absolute surrender."

"You are drunk," I said, "and you are tired. In the morning, things will be clearer."

She dropped my hand with another sigh, looking across the dark room as if she sought something she could not find. Her nails bit into her palms.

"I am drunk, and I am tired, but I doubt anything can become clearer than it is now."

"But the Valar ordained you queen."

"Perhaps they were wrong," she moved silently towards the window and looked out, "Maybe I was never meant to be the wife of Finwë. I loved him, and so I thought I was right, but maybe I was not. For there is weakness in love, and in everything even happiness there is pain."

She drew the drapes and leaned against the back wall looking at me dully through tear stained eyes, her soft lips pursed, and her hands clasped before as if in chains. She was a tall woman but she seemed to have shrunken. Her knees were bent, and her head, which she usually held with such grace and dignity, seemed to hang with no purpose from her long neck.

I was silent, ashamed to be there, to watch her fall. It is always strange when someone is cast down, you know not whether to reach out and comfort her or flee from her wrath. In that moment I had lost some respect for her. I had heard many outside the court call her weak, but for many years I had refused to believe this. Now I began to question my conviction. I felt angered by this and betrayed.

"I saw you today…with Fëanaro."

I was startled by her abrupt change of subject and rather annoyed.

"What of it?"

"I was just wondering what you were talking about."

"Nothing really."

"Then why did he spend so much time with you?"

"I have no idea," I said curtly. I could feel my level of irritation rising, but I did not know why. They were reasonable questions.

"He should have eaten with his family," she did not say this accusingly but rather as if she were trying to puzzle over something she did not understand.

"He should have."

"You did not eat with him."

"No."

"Why not?"

"I do not much care for him."

"Why not?"

"Why should I? He has never treated our family well."

"Yet, you stayed with him quite awhile."

I could feel my cheeks start to burn.

"I could think of no pretext for leaving."

"None? How strange, I have never found you to be lost for words, but Fëanaro is a commanding spirit. I would careful around him."

"Why? He can do me no harm."

"He has done many harm, Artanis," Indis answered grimly, "He can thrust deep with his words for he is their master. No one can stand against him for long, and no one has been able to deny him anything. So is his way. He is terrible, and he is proud."

She frowned and looked at me, and I could sense that she was worried.

"Sit down," she said, sitting down on her bed and patting a spot next to her. I obeyed.

"When Fëanaro was talking to you did he know who you were?"

"I told him."

"But when did you tell, before or while you were dancing?"

"After we were done dancing."

"How long afterwards, before or after he started eating with you?"

"After."

"And how did he react?"

I closed my eyes and tried to remember the exact look on his face. I could see his face easily, those bright eyes staring down at me with admiration and contempt.

"He frowned."

Indis nodded and blew at the candle nearest. It fluttered but did not go out.

"I believe that he was quite taken by you," she said.

I stared at her in disbelief.

"Whatever do you mean?"

"He found traits in you that he liked, but he was not overly pleased to find you linked to the side of his house he would rather not acknowledge."

I frowned but said nothing in return. She did not seem to expect me to, turning instead to a blue silk dressing gown that had been lying forlornly on the bed. She wrapped about herself and tied it close just under her breasts.

"I grow weary of this fight," she said staring at the ceiling, "if only there were a way to bring about a truce."

She sunk down on the bed fingering her wedding ring as if she were not sure what to do with it. She suddenly took it off and handed to me.

"Here take this to Fëanáro," she said, "tell him that I have given in."

Stunned I did not move but just stared at the slender band of gold that had been placed so carelessly in my hot palm. Then raising my eyes from it, I stared at her alarm.

"You cannot mean it," I stuttered.

"I do," she answered mildly, her face completely composed.

"I could never do such a thing," I said trying to force the ring back into her hand, but she refused to take it. Instead, she folded her arms across her chest and closed her eyes.

"I will not do this thing," I asserted.

"I order you to," she said raising her head. She sat up and brushed her hair from her face and gazed intently into my eyes, "you must do it, as I am your queen and have authority over you."

"To do such a thing would be unfaithful and despicable, while you are in such a state," I answered firmly.

"In what sort of state?" she demanded, standing up and raising herself to her full height. Her usually soft features had become hard and unreadable.

"You are not yourself," I replied.

"I know perfectly well what I am doing. I have thought about it for some time. I command you to bring him the object I have given you. I am sure Fëanáro will find it to his liking. I will be very angry if you disobey."

Her words were steady and cool headed as if they had been planned out. She raised one of her eyebrows threateningly. She had made such a change from the sad woman who had been stretched out on the bed a moment ago, that it took me a moment to fully realize whom I was speaking to. Either she was delirious or this was some sort of trick. She was testing me. I could feel it now. She had laid herself in my hands, my own trembling fingers. Why was she so cruel to me? What did she want? I could hear my heart beat, feel the measure of each breath. Everything was so still. The storm had died hours ago, and the birds held their peace. The air was heavy with the smell of incense and violets and pressed down upon us.

"Why do you not trust me?" I asked holding out the ring, "why must you test me in this manner? You ask me to do a grave dishonor, which would not only affect you but my whole family."

She stared at me a moment before taking back the ring.

"I needed to be sure of your fealty."

"Why? What have I done to make you to question it?"

"It is not really what you have done, but what you might do."

"But why now?" I said then hesitantly continued; "it is because of what you saw today. Because you saw me talking to Fëanáro, you think that I am conspiring with him. Do you think of me as such a treacherous person?"

"No," she answered gravely, "but Fëanáro can be quite persuasive."

"And why would he have any interest in turning _me_ against you?"

She hesitated twisting the ring about her finger as if to make sure it was still there.

"Because he fears you, or, at least, what you could be."

"What do you mean?"

"I speak of a prophecy that was spoken of years ago, that from the House of Arafinwë would come one who would be his match in greatness. Till today he believed that the seer had misspoken in anger, but now he is not so sure, and he fears that you will be influenced by other sources before he can win you to his side. At this very moment he is speaking with your father and grandfather about taking you on as an apprentice."

I laughed. She stared back at me in astonishment.

"I never thought you such a good actress," I said, "but you should have warned me."

"I am not acting, Artanis," she said crossly, "I am very serious about this."

"I, a match for Fëanáro in greatness? My father will be upset with you for spiking my pride. He says I have far too much already."

"Artanis, this is no game. I am telling you the truth."

"Well, perhaps your seer was dull witted," I returned with a roll of my eyes.

"You are very complimentary this evening," a female voice, thick with sarcasm, said from the right front corner behind me. I turned.

"Lady Nerdanel," I said in disbelief and gave a quick and awkward bow of my head. I could scarcely believe that I had not noticed her before.

"Nerdanel, will suffice," she said coolly, studying me with her intense grey eyes.

"Nerdanel," I repeated, too startled to think of anything else to say.

"A seer is seldom dull witted, Artanis. It those who do not listen to the seer who are so."

"Yes, lady."

"Good, I am glad we have that settled. My husband wishes to take you on as an apprentice. Your uncle, Ñolofinwë, will not be pleased with this, and your father will not wish you to be taken from him at such a young age, not that it makes much sense, but he will say something along those lines. Your grandfather will, of course, be inclined towards his eldest son. I am not blind to these preferences. Your mother and Anairë will side with you, whichever course you take, though they will likely be inclined to favor your apprenticeship as a means to keep up civilities between our two houses and in the hopes of creating a more permanent tie. Your brothers will, of course, be sad to see you leave, and all of them will likely thrust themselves on you as an escort, but I think that Findekáno would be more suited for the task, especially since Findaráto has an apprenticeship in Valimar this summer."

She stopped to take a breath, and I decided to speak before she could tell me everything everyone else in the court would think. Since the time I had first met her as a mere babe, I had never known her to speak more then a sentence at a time, and for some reason I thought that since she had started talking she would go on forever.

"And what will I do?" I asked quickly.

"I do not know," she with a perplexing smile, "That is for you to decide."

**If you have read this, please review. If you have read it partly, please review. If you found it confusing, please review. If there is something you liked or disliked, please review. Your opinions are highly valued and will greatly help generating the story. Thank you! **


	8. Light

**_All I can say is that I worked really, really hard on this chapter, and that the idea of Alatariel coming from the way her hair was done for athletic feats was actually mentioned in a letter, anyway enjoy-Galad Estel_**

"Few ever changed his courses by counsel, none by force" –"Of Fëanor", The Silmarillion, J. R. R. Tolkien.

**Chapter Seven**

**Light**

Heat and movement, that is all I was flying across the white sand, swifter than the gulls above, and cries and screams echoed in my ears as I rushed past the crowd. I could hear Finderato urging me on, and my legs answered him, my strides became longer, stronger, fiercer. I ran faster than the wind that whistled in my ears, following the light west away, my eyes never ceasing to see the course ahead. On and on, we went leaving the beaches of Alqualondë behind, our bare feet meeting instead the grass of wet meadows and then further on the forest floor. I did not dare look at my companions for fear of loosing my momentum. I would not turn to see if they were before or behind. I was the light streaming through the trees, over water and rock. I could feel no pain. I knew no doubt or despair. I was the light.

"Alatáriel! Alatáriel!"

A voice cried out, and it was repeated by others, high and proud and unyielding. I felt a hand seize my arm and tore away but then turning I met the eyes of my brother. Aikanáro stood there trembling, trying to speak through heavy breaths.

"It's over," he managed to say, "you've won."

I looked at him stunned for a moment. It was over, already over? Why, I could have run further. I wanted to be so much more, but I had won. I had won. My legs gave way, and I sank to the ground, laughing and pulling Aikanáro into an embrace.

"It's all right, Aika," I said softly running my fingers through his spiky. blond hair, "I could never have done it without you."

He smiled at me and shook his head.

"How have you come to be so fast, little one?" he teased.

"I had to be fast, to keep up with all of you."

He kissed my cheek and held my head against his chest, squishing me slightly.

"And now you can outrun us."

"Outrun you, you mean?" Findaráto said walking up.

"Coward," Aikanáro snapped back, "you did not even try."

"You're right," Findaráto said with a roll of his eyes, "I am a bloody coward, but my sister is the beautiful Alatáriel, and any man who has her favor, is a man to be esteemed."

I gazed up at him adoringly, and he crept to my side, stealing me away from Aikanáro and planting a kiss on one cheek and then the other. I giggled madly and pulled away. How I loved him, more like a father than a brother really. He had been nigh full-grown when I was born. He was the one who carried me through Valinor on his shoulders, so proud, who sang me to sleep on nights when my mother was busy, who comforted me when I was afraid, the one who braided my hair, and the one I told all my secrets to.

"Where's Angarato?" Aikanáro asked.

"Here," a voice said from behind. We turned to see Angarato walking towards us, Artaher not far behind. Angarato had broken his leg falling, while mountain climbing with Artaher and Findekáno a few weeks earlier, and though the leg was pretty much healed, he had not been allowed to participate in the race.

"So which one of you won?" he asked looking between Aikanáro and me.

"How do you know it was either of us?" I asked raising my eyebrows.

"Yes," said Aikanáro, "why not suspect someone like Maitimo."

For a moment my world froze, had I really beaten Maitimo? I looked over and saw him standing near his mother, his face turned away from me. I had not remembered seeing him, but yes, he had been there, now I remembered, but in the excitement of the moment I had forgotten about him. His father would not be pleased, but perhaps there would be a way he could get around it. He had been already tired because of, what? I could think of nothing. I had always admired Maitimo. I had admired Findekano who had admired Maitimo. All I had ever heard was his praise, and so I had naturally learned to adore him, but Maitimo would be all right. Findekano would make sure of it. I should not worry. I had won. It was worth celebrating.

"Oh, I heard them shout," Angarato said, "They called Alatáriel, everyone heard that."

Alatáriel, maiden wreathed in radiance, my epessë. I was so called because of the way I coiled my hair about my head when I competed. It looked they said like a garland of gold and silver light. I loved the name, the way it rolled off the tongue, liquid and free. Yet there was something missing from it that I could not quite put my finger on, as I also was missing something or someone.

"What are you thinking so hard about, love?" Findaráto asked.

"Nothing," I said with a smile.

"She's probably still shocked about winning," Aikanáro laughed.

"Come," said Finderato lifting me to my feet, "let us find Amme, she will be angry if we keep her waiting much longer."

* * *

><p>Evening shadows poured over Alqualondë ready to engulf it in darkness. I stood leaning against a stone arch watching the last light of the Trees shimmer in the foam that kissed the beach and on the pearl sides of the palace.<p>

"So you won," a voice, soft and high, like a zephyr whispered behind me.

I turned to find Fëanáro standing there a dull smile on his lips.

"Yes," I said with a quick natural smile.

"And how does that make you feel?"

I stared at him sharply, my lips straightening into a line. What sort of question was that? Yet I had learned enough from the last four years of being his apprentice, that Fëanáro would not leave until his question was answered.

"I am content," I said, absently touching the neckline of my tunic. It was white, and my trousers were gold; these were my family's colors: white and gold and green, but I wore no green.

"Are you? Truly content?"

I stared at him. Why shouldn't I be? And yet, there was still this emptiness, something I could not quite understand. I felt his eyes on me, watching, always watching. The heat of his gaze made my skin burn.

"Why do you stare at me so?"

"You are beautiful, the light it shines behind you… is it a crime to stare at a piece of art?"

"I wish you would not stare at me so."

"Why not? You may stare at me."

I looked at him, the face that I had always been drawn to even before I had met him, its strengths and its frailties, those dark, glittering eyes like lighting in a storm or starlight on dark water. I shook my head and turned away towards the arch hiding in its shadow, but his hand clasped my shoulder and turned me towards him. He took my hands in his and looked into my eyes. I watched him patiently, waiting for him to say or do something.

"Our fates are bound together," he said gently squeezing my fingers.

I stared down at our hands and then back at him.

"What do you mean?"

He released one of my hands, moving the fingers of his right hand up towards my head. He touched one of the braids. I drew away a little but otherwise gave no resistance. I was enthralled by the mystery of his words, paralyzed with curiosity. He unclipped the braid and let it fall down, this he did in turn with each one, studying the hair, twisting it between his fingers. I did not like it, the way he treated me as if I were a thing. Yes, that is what I was to him, a marvel. A thing to be looked at and admired, never recognized as a being like himself, but that was the way he treated everyone, as if they lay far beneath, those he loved became his pets, those he did not love…

"What do you want from me, uncle?" I asked. My voice had grown so cold that I barely recognized it.

He started, his hands falling to his sides, even his gaze dropped.

"Someday you will know what I feel."

And for a moment he seemed translucent. I felt as if I could slip through him and there would be nothing. Then he spoke again and his words were strong.

"I ask only for a tress of your hair."

I could hear my heartbeat in my ears, quick and loud like a fast beaten drum. I felt fear and anger flow through me. How dare he? How dare he ask me for a share of my glory when he already had so much of his own? How dare the man who treated my family like they were nothing for years ask such a favor? How dare my uncle ask me for a lover's gift, a lock of my hair? He must be mad, I thought.

"No," I answered, my voice, ice.

He looked startled, his eyebrows twitching, and his eyes gleamed alarmingly.

"What?" he asked. He spoke as if he had never been denied anything before in his life. I knew the word "no' well. I could not count the times I had been told that I could not do or have something.

"No," I said once more, a little louder and clearer this time, in case my enunciation was the problem.

He looked at me with hurt and troubled eyes and then slowly he smiled. This worried me.

"I understand," he said gently touching my shoulder, "you would wish that such a request were made more privately. I shall speak no more of this now. Farewell and good night."

He left then before I could say another word.

**_Please_ Review**


	9. Sea

"Listen as the wind blows from across the great divide,voices trapped in yearning, memories trapped in time,the night is my companion, and solitude my guide  
>would I spend forever here and not be satisfied?" -"Possession" Sarah Mclaclan<p>

**Chapter Eight**

**Sea**

"Nerwen."

Slow and soft Findaráto called me. I did not answer. My eyes looked out on the dark sea.

"Nerwen, are you going to stand there all night?"

"I do not know."

"What has happened?"

"Is not the sea beautiful tonight?" I asked, "It is so dark, so wild, so mysterious, so utterly perilous. Look how it flings itself forward as if it would devour the land. Soon all shall be Sea. We will be lost in its beauty."

"What do you speak of?" Findaráto said uneasily.

I turned to him, and saw worry in his blue grey eyes, yet I smiled.

"What do you think lies beyond the great expanse?"

"Wilderness, I deem."

"The wild lands of the east?" I mused, looking out towards them.

"Yes."

His hand rested on my shoulder; his fingers curved round and closed in.

"Yet not all of our kin removed hence from it."

"No," he said, "they did not."

"I wonder if ever we shall meet them."

"I know naught."

"I wonder what they are like, the far lands."

Findaráto's hand dropped to his side, and he took a small step forward, his barefoot leaving a light imprint in the wet sand.

"They are dark, forever in twilight, beneath the stars."

"Like it is now…here?"

"I deem so."

"How strange."

"Yes."

"I suppose they are used to it."

He did not answer. I turned to see his face and saw the longing in his eyes. It was said that of Earwen's children, we twain held most of the blood of our mother's people, the Teleri, from whence sprang our deep love of Sea and our strange fascination with Arda Marred. In truth, Findaráto looked more like a prince of Valimar with his tall, well-built body, his ample, amiable features, and his golden hair, but his spirit was in everyway Telerin, yet wrought stronger by a Noldorin will. We were of the three kindred and bore the blood of three kings of Valinor and of the king in the East. Our blood was more royal than that of Fëanáro in that respect, and my father had obviously not tried to conceal it, giving his children names that hinted quite clearly at our lineage. My own name meant "high, noble woman", but there was little power behind our lofty titles. We were still the children of the youngest son of Finwë. We would never rule in Valinor.

"We are nothing here," I whispered, my voice almost lost to the wind that whipped through our hair.

Findaráto nodded then turned and met my eyes, and for a brief moment it seemed as if he was fighting hard against some inner assailant. Then he shook his head.

"No, Nerwen, no," he said, "we belong here with our family. We belong to Valinor. This is where we were born. No land can be as beautiful as this."

I sighed inwardly but cloaked my disappointment with a smile.

"Of course."

Findaráto still appeared troubled, as if he needed something to cling to, to assure him he had not been swept off already. I offered him my hand, and he took it, a shaky smile streaking across his face.

"Our people on those other shores," I said carelessly, "are they yet alive? And of what do they built their houses from? Or do they live out below the stars as did out ancestors?"

"Those are not questions for me to answer, dearest, but perhaps, the Valar can tell you, if you ask."

I sighed and pulled away from him, dipping my foot into the water. It was cold, and I immediately drew back.

"Where are you going?" Findaráto asked.

"I am not certain," I said coyly, "where shall we go?"

He raised an eyebrow and retook my hand.

"Are you all right, Nerwen?"

I nodded.

"Yes, yes, I am fine," I paused, "but I shall not go back."

"Go back?"

"I shall not return to the house of Fëanáro."

"Why not?" he asked, his eyes narrowing, "has he hurt you? If he has mistreated you in anyway…"

"No, Findaráto," I answered, "he has not touched me, well, at least he has caused me no harm, but he has asked for something I will not give him, and for this reason, I wish to leave his house."

"He has asked for your loyalty?"

"He has asked for a lock of my hair."

Findaráto's eyes went wide. Out of instinct, he released my hand and reached for the locket that hung about his neck, which held the hair of his love, Amarië. He did not speak for some time, his facial expression shifting through phases of shock then disgust then horror, and finally denial and confusion.

"But why?" he finally asked, "Did he give you a reason?"

"No, he gave no definite answer."

"Did you ask?"

"I cannot remember."

"Shall I ask him for you?"

For a moment I hesitated but then I shook my head.

"No, I do not want his answer. He can keep it, as I shall keep the tress he desires. I want no more to do with this matter."

"Father, at least, should know."

"Nay, do not trouble him with this," I pleaded, "He will not know what to do. It will add only to his burdens."

"Then I shall speak to the king."

"That you shall not do. He will side with his son, as he has done in every affair, and I have no wish to become the subject of gossip."

Findaráto frowned.

"Perhaps," he said, "you should speak with Nerdanel."

"Tell her that her husband asked for a lock of my hair?"

"Tell her that you can no longer live with them."

"That I shall do, but do not speak with anyone of this matter. I wish to keep it quiet. Perhaps Fëanáro was drunk or only joking."

I knew the last words to be untrue, but at least they held some brief reassurance.

"Perhaps," Findaráto said moodily, biting the nail of his right middle finger, "but let us go in. The night grows dark, and it is cold."

He wrapped an arm about me, and we went in together.

* * *

><p>Findarato-Finrod<p>

_**Please Review**_


	10. Broken Dreams

_All right, so this is somewhat disturbing, so be forewarned…_

**Chapter Nine**

**Broken Dreams**

Thoughts are so repetitive, everything a mindless circle of the mind. I stand here, but I was there, and I will stand there again, yet not always. How, one can change in a year, and yet after thousands we still bear the same heart. Memories I have tried to forget, I now strain to remember. Feelings I have long suppressed shoot through me, and then dart away to the unknown leaving me with a dull yearning. I can see now the porcelain dishes laid out on the table, the crystal goblets brimming with summer wine, the loaves of golden bread garnished with luscious red strawberries, small round powdered cakes and fruit pies in splendid rows lined one after another on the glossy marble table in the front room in Tirion.

The front room was so charming. It was not as large and pompous as the dining room, and it led out into the garden. The paneled doors were wide-open letting in the sweet scent of the lilacs and lupines that wrapped themselves about the palace. The walls were a light but warm honey color and the furniture was either white or dark brown. The dark wood floor was spread with a magnificent carpet with interlocking geometric shapes in subtle hues of blue, green, and grey.

That particular day was Irissë's. It was her begetting day, and she, though already quite drunk, looked the part, with youths clustered about her, their faces filled with deep-rooted infatuation. She was half lying, half sitting on a white sofa, with her head thrown back. Her long black hair was loose and fell over the arm of the sofa. She was talking rapidly with Tyelkormo about a hunt they had both been on. Her lips parted alluringly as she laughed. One hand moved subconsciously to her breast as she tried to catch her breath. Her cheeks were flushed, and her eyes were like pools of light and water.

Tyelkormo sat beside her, his arm lying casually over the top of the sofa, a sweet but rather foolish smile bedecking his handsome face. He wanted to kiss her but did not dare, so he just sat there imagining what it would be like if he did have the courage. She did not notice but slowly and enticingly lifted her glass to her lips. I squirmed uncomfortably. Did she know what she was doing to our cousin? It did not seem so.

"And then," she said, "we followed the river down and there it was standing just waiting for us, with those dark eyes so somber and challenging. It nearly scared me to death, remember?"

Tyelkormo, startled out of his fantasy, blushed slightly but quickly nodded his agreement. I turned away and caught the eye of another gazer. Nerdanel smiled rather reluctantly at me and turned to Ñolo, who she had been half listening to before, with fervent attention. I guessed that she was upset at being caught staring at the two of them but since I was also staring that made little sense. Nerdanel's mind was a hard one to read though, harder than her husband's even, as strong, steady and sharp as stone.

I was not feeling particularly good that day. I was tired mostly, from staying up late the last few nights trying to finish a gown I had been making as a gift for Irissë. In those days I found sewing and embroidery and anything to do with cloth dreadfully tedious (though I did appreciate other's work), so I had kept putting off the work. I had not even finished it yet, much to my shame.

I wondered if I could slip away now and get it done. I stood up and crept towards the door, but Irissë spotted me. Strange how she selected what she should notice, but why did she have to see? Her lips twisted into a mocking smile.

"Ah!" she said to the group about her, "It seems that Artanis is bored already of our company, but, of course, she had more important things to do than attend her cousin's party."

I suppose this remark needs some small explanation. After I had returned from my lessons with Fëanáro about a year before, I had spent great lengths of time closed up in my room buried in my studies or walking alone or with a friend across the lands. I had frequently turned down invitations to outings and parties, merely because they were used as places for finding a mate, and since I had never found someone who I was sure I could spent my whole life, never even found someone who I had feelings that went over the childish infatuation I had felt for Maitimo, I had quite given up on the idea on falling in love. Irissë, however, loved parties, not because she was a romantic but because she was so good at them, and she felt personally hurt if I did not like the things she did. She was sensitive like that. Maybe she was also jealous that Fëanáro had made me and not her his apprentice, and that I had given up the position for no apparent reason, but these thoughts did not occur to me at the time. I had drunk a few glasses myself.

"Yet I am surprised," she continued almost cheerfully, "that you would sneak off like such a coward."

"I do intend to return," I said with annoyance.

'Ah, yes," she said with a laugh, though there was hurt in her eyes, "I am sure you will, what, perhaps, tomorrow?"

"I just have to fetch something."

"Oh? Well, let me help you." Irissë pulled herself to her feet.

"No. It's a surprise."

"And how long will it take?"

"It shouldn't take more than…an hour."

"But, of course, enough of a break so you can endure being with us again."

I stood there silently, not daring to say a word for fear that I would insult her. I was not going to finish the dress.

"Irissë," Anairë said crossly, "calm yourself, what is ever the matter with you?"

I sat down.

"Well, are you going to answer me?" Irissë asked, ignoring her mother.

I was stubbornly silent. I did not need to tell her about the dress I had tried and failed to make in time. My pride forbade my failing anything. I would just never finish it. Yes, I would rip it to pieces the first chance I had. No, I was not so easily moved to passion. What did it matter? This whole conversation was pointless and stupid.

"I hate you," Irissë said slowly and steadily and turned back to Tyelkormo as if nothing had happened.

Everyone pretended that the whole conversation had never existed. My mother shot me a worried glance that was all. We had had plenty fights in the past. Irissë was jealous of me. She envied my beauty, though she was herself a beauty, strength, though she was strong. I suppose she was angry because I surpassed her in all her strong points. I do not think she knew that I envied her. She had always been so content with her life. She had no dreams, no ambitions. The fields and woods, the sweating flanks of her horse as she rode him fast, the thrill of the hunt that is what she loved. She desired no change. I, on the other hand, was far from satisfied with the life I had been given, one that was slow to change and predictable. I could foresee what my life would be like as a minor princess, most likely married to an Elven lord I did not truly love, and I hated it.

Wordlessly, I got up and left the room. Finwë caught me near the door.

"Are you all right?" he asked gently. There was worry in his deep-set grey eyes, the sort of worry one has for an unhappy child. I think he wanted to pull me into his arms and hold and rock me and let me tell him everything that was wrong, and for a moment I liked the idea, would have been content to sob against his shoulder, but I could not. I was no child, and never with all those people staring at us. I nodded and pulled away, running along the corridor and up a flight of stairs.

I reached my room and flung myself down on the bed, but I did not cry. I got up and got out the dress. It was nice sort of dress I decided. It deserved to be finished even if I wore it myself and did not give it to Irissë. I started to fear that someone would come looking for me, and that I would have to explain things to them, and that they would be all pitiful but scolding and telling me I should have said something, and well, I could not have borne it, so I went to my grandfather's room. I did not think anyone would look for me there. It had a small balcony, and I sat there and took to my work.

Several minutes went by. My fingers struggled to keep the cloth still while I made the stitches. I pricked a finger, cursed, then stared half hypnotized at the small opening watching the blood slip out drop-by-drop, wondering how many drops it would take before I died, even though I knew I could not die from such a small infliction. I suddenly sensed a presence behind me and turned. Fëanáro was standing there, staring at me in confusion.

"Why are you here?" he asked sharply, "this isn't your room."

"No," I said, "I just wanted to get away from everyone for awhile. I just…"

His expression softened, when he saw the dress on my lap and my bleeding finger.

"You've pricked yourself, you silly girl, here let me see."

He took my hand and looked at it.

"I am not a child," I said trying to sound firm.

"I know."

There was something disturbing about that answer. He kissed the bleeding finger. It was a soft kiss, warm and lingering. Our eyes met. I looked away. I felt blood rush to my cheeks, but at least the finger had stopped bleeding, perhaps there was no blood left there.

"Here," Fëanáro said, lifting up the dress I had been working on, "let me see this."

He looked it over critically and then let out a heavy sigh.

"Well, the stitches could have the smaller, but that can't be helped now. If you would like I could help you finish it."

As I made no objection, he sat down on the chair beside me and set to work with needle and thread as if he were born sewing. He looked up from his work often to glance up at me and gaze with curiosity into my eyes.

"Have you continued your studies?"

"Yes."

"Good."

I did not say anything.

"Why did you leave?"

"I…I was homesick."

"But there was something else."

I was silent.

"Come now, we have always been honest with one another. I've always known if you were hiding something from me."

"I needed sometime to be alone and think."

"Like now?"

"Sort of."

"And my letters, you have not been answering my letters lately, you used to write something, have you ceased to love me?"

I looked down at my hands.

"Ah, Nerwen, you are always so afraid, am I so horrifying? I could never hurt you."

He tilted my head up and kissed my cheek near my mouth. I felt my nerves come alive, my heartbeat quickened. Why did he have to seem so kind and sad?

"Shouldn't you be with your wife?" the words broke half willingly from my lips.

"My wife?" he asked drawing back and looking as if he was forgotten something important, then he shook his head, "No, no, I should not be with her. She would rather me not be with her. I am far too demanding."

"Yes, well, are you done?"

"With what?"

"With the dress?"

He said nothing but went back to sewing.

"I love her you know. I love Nerdanel. I really do. I did since the first moment I saw her I think, well, anyway after we first talked, yes, I loved her."

"Yes, well, that's good."

"I also love you."

My heart stopped.

"You cannot love us both…"

"Yes, yes, I can. Perhaps if I were merely an Elf I would not be able to, but you know that I am not. I am, well, as powerful as some Maia, and I excel the Valar in some aspects. I am fully capable of loving you both, just in different ways."

"What do you mean by that?"

"What do I mean by that?" he seemed as puzzled as I was, "well, I do not think it matters very much. I am married and that is the end of it. What else is left but a broken dream? I had no hope from the beginning. She is tired of me; no rather she is tired because of me. She has been utterly spent, She can no longer bear the heat of my fire, but I still burn. But you, you Nerwen, you could take my fire. I knew that from the beginning, when you touched my mind, I knew."

I stood up, but at the same moment so did he. I took a step away from him, but found that my back was to the railing of the balcony. I glared at him, and my hands clenched in fists at my side, but he did not seem to notice.

"You see, Nerwen, we are so much alike, you and I. The two greatest of our kind, male and female, and yet no way we turn this, does it turn out right. I am married and you are my niece, the daughter of a half brother whom I have for long years scorned, who is the son of a woman I hate. You should never have been born. Eru has made you to torment me. A woman who equals me in nearly everything, who can read into my every thought and feeling, who is beautiful beyond anything I could have ever imagined, and who could endure and enjoy my passions, but I cannot have her, you see the trick there…but your fate may not be much better. You shall marry like me, most likely to some weak-minded Telerin who could never satisfy you. Yes, you shall never be content. You shall always feel emptiness inside of you, a longing for something you cannot have. Nothing and no one can fill it, so, in the end all we have left are broken dreams."

I stared at him in shock and disbelief, what was he saying and why was he telling me? At least he seemed to be finished for now. I allowed myself to breathe, though I still kept myself on guard.

"Leave me alone," I said. I was aggravated by how soft my voice sounded.

He did not seem convinced. He picked the dress back up and went on with the sewing.

"Do you know now what I spoke of earlier, on the shores of Sea?" he asked after a moment, needle paused in mid air.

'Yes, yes, I understand, I think."

"Then shall you give me, what I have asked for?"

A picture flashed through my mind of Fëanáro twisting a lock of hair between his fingers bringing it to his lips and kissing it as he sat alone in his room. I shivered in fear and disgust.

"No."

His eyes flashed.

"But I have told you my reasons."

"I did not like them."

"Fine," he threw the dress down, "sew your own dress."

But then seeing that he had nearly finished it, he picked it back up and marched into the bedroom. I followed him, fearing that he might destroy my hard work. For a moment everything else seemed to slip my mind, maybe I was too scared to believe him. He threw the gown upon the bed and stared down at it. I could see an image forming in his mind; he no longer saw the dress but a blonde woman wrapped in the arms of a dark haired man, quivering with pleasure as he kissed her bare neck and shoulders. Her arms pulled him tighter as she squirmed like a serpent on a pile of silk.

"Here," he said, "is where the sin took place. Where my father took another woman, why shouldn't I follow in his footsteps?"

"Your wife is not dead."

"Which actually makes it better. In taking another wife, my father made it impossible for my mother to return from the dead. He forbade her life. I would give Nerdanel back hers. She would not have to be driven by me anymore."

"I am your niece."

"Half niece, and as you were born of sin, I cannot really defile you."

He took a step towards me. I drew near the door, but he caught my arm. I tried to cry out, but what I had intended as scream slid through my clenched teeth as a barely audible hiss. He held me in front of him as if I were some sort of prize, studying me over with a demon's eyes. He was stronger than I.

"Yet you look so pure, all arrayed in white like some maiden of Elbereth with the light in her hair," he shook his head sadly, "no one would ever know what had happened here. You would not tell anyone for fear of shame…but you look so calm. You hide you passion behind walls of iron. No, iron could not hold it. You have encaged you heart in adamant, and yet I can see through to it—can see the fire burning there, but I cannot reach it."

He stopped then and let go of my arm.

"Is it possible?" he asked himself out loud. He lifted the dress up again, ran his fingers along it and then handed it back to me, a strange smile crossing his face.

"Nerwen," he said, "if you will give me but a lock of your hair, I shall make with it a wonder that no one has seen before, a thing so beautiful it could never be resisted. It would be the very fruit of desire."

I said nothing. He paced the room like a trapped beast and then turned to me again.

"Nerwen, this is the last time I shall ask for it, but, please, will you give me a tress of your hair?"

His words had such an ache in them, like a hurt child or a hungry hound. His eyes were filled with sorrow and want.

I hesitated, wondering what I should do. I wanted to run away and pretend that the whole thing had never happened, but I could not. My feet were frozen to the floor. My throat was dry and my arm hurt from where Fëanáro had seized me. I rubbed it tentatively. Another part of me just wanted to give in, let him have the lock, perhaps then he would forget about me. I would no longer be totally unattainable, so I would loose my mystery, and I would be safe, but another part of me said that if I did I would loose respect in both his and my own eyes, then a more malicious thought surfaced. I had him in my power. He desired something that I had. If I denied him I would break him, at least a little. I would make him hurt, as he had hurt us, revenge. He had certainly provoked me enough with his accusations of his sin on grandparent's part. They had done no wrong. The Valar had supported them. My father said that the Valar were the final authority in Arda. I believed him. As for Fëanáro's threat, I would not be coerced into doing something I did not want, especially not by _him_. Whatever came of it I would endure, but I would not bend before him. I lifted my head up proudly and stared straight into his eyes.

"No," I said decisively, "You shall never have a tress of my hair, unless by force you take it."

His eyes narrowed, and his whole face darkened. I could feel his hate and his fear, but he did not strike me as I first suspected he might do. He did not move. We stood there watching each other warily, waiting for the other to strike or speak, and then finally he did speak softly now, almost meekly, though his eyes still burnt with fury:

"I…" he began hesitantly for once at a loss for words, "I bid you good day."

He walked away, and I stood there watching him leave. The door closed behind him. It clicked into place. The handle quivered one moment, but he did not come back. I listened as the footsteps crept off down the stairs, not daring to move. Then finally when I could hear them no more I collapsed on to the bed and cried.

* * *

><p><em>Quenya translations:<em>

Irissë—Aredhel

Ñolo—Fingolfin

Fëanáro—Fëanor

* * *

><p><em><strong>All right, this is your chance to tell me what you have thought of the chapter<strong>_


	11. Hate

**_I am sorry for neglecting fanfiction for so long. I was just feeling gloomy and uninspired...anyway, this just came out of somewhere, not sure where. Probably the strangest chapter yet. Enjoy?-Galad Estel_**

**Chapter 10**

**Hate **

The room was stuffy, and Feanaro blew dust off the back of my chair.

"Well?" he said. His voice was calm, regulated. I look around the classroom, at the maps and paintings on the wall, and gave him no answer.

He sighed deeply and pressed his fingers against the wood on the back of my chair. I could hear his breath and feel it on my neck, warm. I could not move. All around me, on other chairs-mismatched chairs, some stone, some wood-sat his seven sons bent in their studies. I could see the curve of Maitimo's lip twisted in frustration over some mathematical question. I could hear the scratch of Makalaure's pen as it rapidly ran out notes. Tyelkormo's pen was silent, half bent over his parchment, but not touching it. At his feet, Huan snored, his large snout hanging over his master's foot. At the other end of the table, Carnister was mixing up some sort of salve, and the scent permeated the room. It smelt sort of like bees wax and molter iron. Once in a while, he would glance up and sneer at me, his thoughts flying wildly at me. _You should not be here. You have no right to my father. _Curfinwe smiled at me. He was drawing. I smiled back. The twins were arguing again; ink was splattered on their fingers. They all looked so young, hardly more than children. My eyes drifted up towards Feanaro. He looked the same as ever. His keen grey eyes pricked mine.

"Will you give it to me or not?" he asked.

I shook my head. I hated the man.

"You are a cruel, insensitive flower," he said dryly.

I nodded curtly. I could not speak. Tyelkormo bent down to ruffle his dog's ear, and Maitimo flipped a page in his book.

"Very well," Feanaro said. He walked briskly across the room and pulled a knife from one of the drawers of his desk. It had a fine blade and a engraved silver handle, and gleamed in the lights of the overhead lanterns. He walked back over to me. Finding myself now able to move, I grabbed my hair and held it protectively, but he seized my arm and cut it off, flung it aside. Then he cut off all my hair and let it fall to the floor, covering the bleeding arm like a blanket. The wound did not hurt much, but I felt shame at my deformation. I covered my face with the hand I had left. Maitimo put his pen down.

"What are you doing, father?" he asked cautiously.

Feanaro glared at him. "Don't interrupt. Can't you see that I am busy?"

"Yes, father." Maitimo bent his head in shame, turned back to his studies.

"Are you going to kill her?" Curufinwe asked with childish curiosity.

"What ever gave you that idea? Can't you see that I am fixing her!"

The boy shook his head and leaned his elbows against the table. His grey eyes were wide and innocent.

"I am disappointed in you, Curvo," Feanaro said sharply, "I thought you were like me."

"I'm sorry," the boy replied. He began to tear up. His father sighed and walked over to him, wrapped an arm around him from behind.

"There, there. There is no need for tears," his father soothed, "just watch and learn, all right?" He kissed the top of the boy's head.

Curufinwe nodded and brushed his smooth white hands over his eyes.

"May I watch too?" Carnister asked eagerly.

"Well, I am not exactly blindfolding you, am I?"

"Father, won't Amme be angry when she comes home?" Makalaure asked. "she really hates it when we make a mess of things."

"It's not likely that she is coming back at all," Feanaro snapped. But he looked around the room and started tidying up. He took a lock of my hair and put it a box and threw the rest of it and my arm on the fire. The stench was awful, and I felt hot tears of shame start to run down my cheeks.

"Whatever do you mean?" Maitimo cried. His book slammed shut, and he stood up. He looked so much like his mother. He had her cheekbones, her eyes, her rich red hair. He looked so sad and bewildered that I felt sorry for him, but there was nothing I could do.

"I mean just what I said. Your mother no longer wants to be part of our lives. She would rather remain in the company of Indis, the woman who stole my father, like a traitor. A traitor. Traitor. They all betrayed me. My mother, my father, my wife, but you my sons you would never leave me, would you?"

"Of course not, father," Tyelkormo said.

"How could you even question it?" Curufinwe cried, "I love you, father. I love you so much."

"We wouldn't leave you," Maitimo stated, "not even if you were cast in the Void. We would follow you to Angband and back."

Feanaro's eyes glistened with tears of love, and he planted kisses on the boys' cheeks. They clung to his shoulders and cried. I watched them with indifference. Only I wished that someone would touch me. I was tired of sitting alone. I still could not move from the chair.

"We'll get by," Feanaro said with confidence. He twisted his finger's through Maitimo's hair. "Maitimo, Maitimo."

"Yes, father?"

"Will you never marry?"

"No, father, you know the seer said I would not."

"Then you shall stay with me?"

"Yes, father."

"And you will strive to please me?"

"As always."

"Good. Now return to your studies."

He patted his son on the shoulder and picked up the knife again. He walked back over to me with a smile playing on his lips.

'Have I kept you waiting?"

I kept my face hidden behind my hand. I did not want him to see me cry, see my weakness.

"Well, I suppose I should get this over with." He made it sound like it was a trivial yet unpleasant chore, like washing the dishes. He cut my brain open.

"What are you doing now?" Curufinwe asked. He was watching intently, pen in hand.

"I am removing the knowledge I bestowed upon this insolent and ungrateful child." He begin digging around with his nice, cutting out small chunks and putting them on the table for the boys to gather up or throwing them to the dog. I let my hand fall to my lap. The boys were too busy divvying up pieces of my brain to notice my tears.

"There, now that's done." Feanaro seemed pleased with himself. He took a needle and thread and sewed my head up.

"Father," Telvo said, "I am hungry. Couldn't we take a dinner break?"

"No," Feanaro, "I do not want to have to go back to this later."

Telvo sighed and pinched Pityo's arm.

"Ow, what was that for?" Pityo grumbled.

_You should have asked. _Telvo thought to him.

_I was not hungry._

_You always make me ask._

_So..._

_It is not fair..._

"Artani_þ_," Feanaro said, "please pay attention. I asked you a question." He pronounced the last letter of my name "th". He would not give up on his silly linguistic theories.

I stared at him in silence.

"Do you want to remain sitting or shall I lay you down?"

I could not answer. My cheeks flushed in anger. Why was I so helpless? I hated this feeling. I hated Feanaro. I wanted to kill him.

"There will be a considerable amount of blood loss, so I should probably lay you down." Feanaro lifted me up and laid me on the table. Before I could do anything, he had torn my bodice open. I gritted my teeth and waited, pure hatred filling up my veins. He slid his hand across my chest, gently moving a breast up away from the region of my heart with the skill of a surgeon, he cut the heart out and held it carefully in his cupped hands before transferring it to a blue porcelain plate.

"Do you see, children, all these black spots on her heart?" He gave the plate to Maitimo, and it got passed around the table.

"What is it, father?" Makalaure asked.

"That is dirt in her heart," Feanaro said, "The hate, the anger, the pride, the bitterness...all that..."

"Fascinating," Curufinwe breathed.

"Isn't it?" his father said with a smile.

"She really is bad, isn't she?" Carnister said with a smirk.

"That's why we must scrape it clean," Feanaro said, "take away all these obstacles to perfection. Before, I cut her it was probably twice as black, all that pride." He gloated down on me, "You didn't make your hair, silly girl."

Then he began to cut and scrape at my heart, until it was just a bloody mess that did not resemble a heart at all. I felt empty without it. I could not even long for it back, just empty.

Carefully, he sewed what was left of my heart back up, put it back in. I started feeling again, but not hate just happiness, love, obedience. I smiled up Feanaro and kissed his cheek. I was able to speak now, so I thanked him profusely.

"Think nothing of it," Feanaro said, "you're my niece, I should look out for your well being. Would you mind cutting your finger off for me? I want to try to see if I can improve it."

He handed me the knife, and I took it eagerly in my hand. I found it hard trying to cut off a finger from the same hand I was using, but finally I was able to remove the little finger and handed it over.

"Thank you," he said.

"Would you like another?" I asked, wanting to please him. But suddenly I felt sick. I began realizing that there was something definitely wrong, but I could not figure what. I felt faint, and I opened my eyes.

I was alone, alone in my bed. Of course, it had been a dream, but I reached out and grabbed my other arm to be assured. It was there. My fingers were there too. I ran them through my hair, also there. I was sweating all over and felt dizzy. Getting up, I looked in the mirror. Everything looked normal. Sighing with relief, I dressed and went downstairs. Sleep would provide no comfort tonight. In the kitchen, I poured myself a glass of red wine. I stared at it and remembered the blood. I wondered if there was something wrong with me. Why did I keep having these dreams?

Irmo. I should speak to Irmo. I put the glass down, drained, and with swift and quiet steps, I made my way to the hall closet. I chose a grey mantle and stepped out into the night, into the half light of Telperion.

(((OO)))(((OO)))(((OO)))(((OO)))(((OO)))(((OO)))(( (OO)))(((OO)))(((OO)))(((OO)))(((OO)))(((OO)))(((O O)))(((OO)))(((OO)))(((OO)))

"What brings you out in such a late hour?" Irmo asked. I had not been long looking when I had found him by my side. He had insisted that I eat something before I speak my mind, so we were sitting in one of the gardens in Lorien, eating and drinking from a basket, which yielded any kind of food you desired. I was eating a sort of pecan cake, I had tasted once but had never found the recipe for, and drinking pineapple juice.

"I wanted to talk you," I said. I took a sip from my glass and wondered how many people came to bother him about their dreams.

"Ah, yes," Irmo said, "I believe you mentioned that...I was sort of wondering what about."

"Well..." I hesitated. Telling the Valar what you were feeling was often hard because they felt differently than you. Small things did not bother them at all. Things like weather and harsh words would make no different to them. Yet Irmo was the best authority in the field of dreams. "Lately I have been having nightmares, just horrible, horrible nightmares."

"Nightmares? What sort?" Irmo asked with a kind and curious voice. He did not seem concerned though.

"Well, tonight I dreamed that my half uncle was cutting me to pieces in front of his sons as some sort of lesson..."

"Where you scared in the dream?" Irmo asked. He was sniffing at a cluster of silver-green flowers.

"No, no. I was angry and ashamed, but I was not afraid. In fact, it felt ordinary in the dream."

"Most likely then, it's just a contention dream. I have heard that there has been a fall out between Feanaro and you."

"Yes," I said, glaring at the ground. I wondered how much he knew. Being Valar, he probably knew everything, or he was reading it off the top of my mind at the moment. If you tried to hide your thoughts, they came to your head faster. I breathed in and out trying to relax.

"Perhaps you fear retaliation on his part..." Irmo twisted the stem of a blossom between his fingers, "did he attack anything specifically?"

"He cut off my hair, an arm, dug out parts of brain, tore apart my heart, and a finger..."

"Fascinating," Irmo said.

His complete calm was infuriating. I could not read anything from his face, and I was unable to read his thoughts as his mind was too complicated. He seemed to have a web of barriers protecting it. If I got through one, I was smacked with another; it was dizzying. I ceased trying, reminding myself that he was the brother in mind of Namo.

"Each of these body parts represents a part of yourself. Your hair...might represent your pride or power. Your arm...an ability to do something. Your brain knowledge. The heart is often used to indicate feelings...a finger could mean skill. You fear he will take these things away from you, but the dream was based on irrational worries brought on by your argument or whatever it was. The best way to cure them is to reconcile with Feanaro."

"I see," I said. I set my glass down,

"Tell me me more about the dream."

"His sons were younger than they are now...younger even then when I worked there as an apprentice."

"Youth. Innocence."

"Perhaps...but it was so strange...and Feanaro said that his wife was leaving..."

"She has you know," Irmo said.

I did not know, but I disliked that he acted like he knew everything, and I nothing.

Oh," I said, "but they have fall outs all the time...they argue and then they get back together...it happens all the time. Some couples won't talk to each other for centuries."

Irmo nodded and frowned. "I cannot understand you people. Why must you always be so quarrelsome? But I am surprised by you a little...that one of Arafinwe's children would cause such a lurch in diplomacy between the houses...he was such a good youth..never made any trouble."

"I am his child," I snapped, "not him."

"Of course, of course," Irmo grunted, "but surely your father has told you the importance of keeping up peaceful relations with..."

"My father takes after his mother, spineless, docile. He would allow himself to be dragged through the mud if it kept the peace..."

"That's just what I like about him," Irmo said, "he is strong in that way. He puts others before himself. He would let his pride suffer to..."

"You like him because he is like a slave! He'll do your bidding. He'll play his part. He's a coward...a coward. He won't stand up for himself, not for me, not for his mother, not for anything. All he is is gentle talk and a friendly smile. A smiling figurine at the Valar's disposal..."

I stopped, shocked by my own words. How had I said that all to him? How had I dared? And about my own father? I was angry and tired. I could not get to him, so I had spilled myself over. The Valar were so sly, but Irmo must have known all of this already. He could read my thoughts...he had just wanted me to spill it all myself. The words, I realized where not even mine. They were Feanaro's.

"Why are you so angry?" Irmo asked.

"I don't know," I covered my face with my hands, "I don't know. I hate him."

"Feanaro?"

I nodded.

"It is wrong to hate people, Artani_þ."_

_"Artanisss,"_ I hissed.

"What?"

"I wish my name to be pronounced Artanis."

"This is absurd," Irmo sighed. "Artanis, why do you hate Feanaro?"

"Because he makes my life miserable."

"You let him make your miserable. He's a troubled man, Artanis. He has lost many things. You must try to understand that. Other people have feelings besides you."

'I know that...don't you think I know that? I can feel them inside. They hurt. I know how my father feels. He does not like Feanaro. He just pretends to because he wants everyone to get along. He hardly knew his half brother growing up, neither did Nolo. Feanaro left the day he was born, believing in his madness that the second son would usurp all of his father's love...I understand it...I do. But that doesn't give him the right to keep torturing us. What have we done so wrong that we must be continually punished? Was being born enough? My father, his brothers and sisters, they had no choice in that. Findis was the only one who really knew Feanaro when he was child. He tormented her everyday. Can you know what that's like? Being a child and not understanding why your elder brother hates you and hurts you and tells you deserve it, just because you had the gumption to live?"

I found tears stinging my eyes. I swallowed hard."I'm sorry."

'What for?" Irmo asked. He was looking at me now, which was nice, but he was absently pressing mint leaves between his fingers. The scent was relaxing. He was trying to calm me down.

"For shouting at you," I replied, "it was uncalled for."

"You were frustrated. You raised your voice instinctively. It is good for you to allow your emotions to come out. I fear that you may be overly troubled by your gift."

"Gift?"

"Your ability to read the minds of others effortlessly and without first having their consent. It's innate only in a few of your kind. It must be hard for you, to bear your feelings and theirs as well."

I stared at him. Mind-reading just seemed so natural to me that I had forgotten it was unusual. When I was small I had thought everyone could do it. I had been so confused because I could not understand why my parents did not know what I wanted or needed, when I knew their desires. Irmo was watching me, awaiting my answer.

"No, not usually," I said, "I mean it's not too much of a bother."

"Isn't it? I tend to disagree. You should not have to bear other people's anger and hurt. It will ruin you. You will become insane. You must learn how to control that energy."

"But I don't know how!"

"Then you must be taught. I will speak to your father. I think it would be best if you were sent to Valimar for some time. There the Valar could instruct you on the good use of your mind."

"But..."

"And it's not just for your sake. Other people need privacy, Artanis. I think it is best you learned that. I have the ability to read minds, but I do not just go around reading other people's thoughts."

I blushed. Of course, he was right. Of course. My father was right. We should obey the Valar. They knew better than us. I bowed my head in obedience.

"Look at me," Irmo said gently. I lifted my head up and stared into his eyes, which were the color of night. He bent and kissed my cheek gently. "You will do all right."

I felt suddenly warm inside, relaxed, but it troubled me, because it reminded me of the feeling I had had at the end of my dream.

**_Reviews are really good for my writing. So, please, leave a note._**


	12. Haven

**AN: I have not written this in quite a long time, so I decided to go back and look it over. I didn't think the last two chapters up here fit where I was going, so I deleted them. Here I lay before you a new chapter, which hopefully will set me in the right direction-Galad Estel**

**Chapter Eleven**

**Haven**

Years passed. I studied much in Valimar. I was a pupil of both Aulë and Yavanna. They became to me very dear. In those days, I largely forgot about my longing for distant lands. Everyone seemed happy were they were, so was I for the most part.

But then things started to change. I believe it was around the time Melkor was released from captivity. Rumors began to spread. At first slowly, as Melkor was kept in Valimar, and the Vanyar being wise did not trust to the wisdom of Melkor. But the mighty Vala would not rejected forever and his words became weeds in the gardens on Noldor.

It was at this time that my mother chose to send me away to Alqualondë. So, I went again to the palace of pearls. Almost as soon as I smelt the salt water, I wished again to travel east. However, I was given little time to question how, before my relatives bombarded me.

My aunts and cousins embraced me, and my uncles planted kisses on my cheeks. But it wasn't long before my grandfather and grandmother, King Olwë and Queen Alquanis stole me from them and brought me to their parlor, where we sat on satin divans and had lemon cakes and sun tea.

"So your brothers are all doing well?" Olwë said. "Not getting into too much trouble?"

"My brothers are getting on fine in their careers," I said. "And they are behaving as best they can. Though I have heard Aikanáro may have fallen into some small trouble."

"Oh?" Olwë said, his deep blue eyes bright with interest.

I nodded. "Apparently, he tried to get a woman to revoke her engagement to another man and marry him instead.

"What happened?" Alquanis said. She was dusting sugar off her cake, pretending not to be too interested.

"Nothing," I said. "She rebuffed him and married her betrothed."

"Well," Olwë said, "It is as it should be, though poor Aikanáro."

"That is really too bad." Alquanis said. "Though I am sure he'll have another chance with love. He's young and handsome."

I smiled and nodded.

"Speaking of marriage," Alquanis continued, "our granddaughter has gotten engaged."

"Oh, congratulations," I said. "Which one?"

"Alassëa," Olwë said. "She is marrying the shipman, Raner."

"Ah," I said, "The one who goes far to sea?"

My eyes stole a look out the window. The sea glimmered in the sunlight, wild and beautiful.

"He is a bit wonder lust," Olwan said, "but in time he will settle down."

Alquanis shook her head. "Alassëa is mad about him."

"Well," I said. "He is good looking."

"He is indeed," Alquanis said. " We were afraid his looks would never be passed down, but no need for worry now."

"Where are they now?" I said.

"Exploring the islands together I suppose," Olwë said.

"Ilmarinen worries about her," Alquanis said.

"Why?" I said. I had thought her father much of worrier.

"He fears that the way they are going, they shall have their marriage on their own."

"What's wrong with that?" I said. "I mean when you were all young, running from the darkness did you wait for a ceremony to bond with each other?"

"No," Alquanis said, her cheeks reddening a bit. "Not all of us. But that is a custom now, and it would be rude not to have the party and all that."

"But if you have a strong feeling," I said, "shouldn't you go with it? I mean if you love someone, why wait?"

"Love can turn amiss sometimes," Olwë said. "We can grow out of it."

"So how do you know when it will stay or last?" I said.

"You just know," Alquanis said.

And we spoke no more on the matter.

* * *

><p>Later that month, I was on the beach with my cousins. We were running through the water, our skirts hitched to\our hips. There is little modesty among the Teleri. They are not ashamed of nakedness, as I later found their kin the Sindar to be.<p>

Alassëa had brought Raner with her, and he was showing us how he could swim with Alassëa on his back. They were both wet when they came out, so they splashed us with water. After that we all decided to swim. Most of my companions just stripped their clothes off, but I kept my under dress on. Afterward, we lay out in the sun to dry our selves.

Raner smiled sideways at me from where he was lying. Alassëa had run off to get us all some food and dry clothes.

"Hi," he said.

I pushed my long hair down across my chest. My under dress was wet and white, and I felt a bit shy, not knowing him. "Hi."

"You're Alatáriel, aren't you?" he said.

"Yes." I stared up at the sky, which was bright blue with just a few wispy clouds.

"You're family lives in Tirion?"

"Yes."

"Then, perhaps, you can tell me what is going on there?" Raner poked his fingers through the sand.

I sat up. "What do you mean?"

"The conflict between Fëanáro and Ñolofinwë." He dug deeper into the sand.

"It's nothing," I said, "They have been quarreling for years."

"Oh," Raner said. His fingers had gotten to wet sand now. "I see. But hasn't it been worsening lately?"

"I don't know," I said. "It's been awhile since I've been in Tirion."

"There was something about a rumor about Ñolofinwë trying to claim the crown." Raner was sculpting the sand into a thrown.

"That's a lie!" I said. "Ñolo would never do such a thing." Then I calmed myself. "Besides, Finwë would have to die first and no one dies here."

Raner looked back towards the land. "It's kind of stagnated here, isn't it? Nothing changes."

"Is that why you are so often at sea?" I said.

He opened his mouth in surprise, and then laughed. "Yes, I suppose. The sea is constant, but it's always moving."

"A paradox?"

"Yes, a wonderful paradox."

"How far have you gone?" I said. "Have you seen other lands?"

"Only islands," he said.

"Have you ever seen people, people different than us?"

"Different?"

I clasped my hands together. "Aulë said that he once made people, before we woke up, and that they are the Naugrim, the dwarves."

"How do they look like?" Raner said. He picked up a pebble and threw into the ocean.

"They're short, strong and hairy. That's what he said. They've got beards."

"Beards?" Raner said, running his fingers across his smooth chin. "No, I have never such people. Perhaps they are still sleeping."

"Perhaps," I said. "Raner, why do you think the Valar sometimes have beards when we don't?"

"I don't know," Raner said. "I can't really see the sense in having hair on your face though. It would get in the way."

"Do you think Ilúvatar has a beard?" I said.

"I had never thought of that," Raner said. "Though Ilúvatar can take on whatever form he desires."

"Do you think Ilúvatar has desires?" I said, lying back down.

"Well, you're very curious."

"I know. But do you?"

"He must. I mean he was lonely before he made the Ainur."

"But Ilúvatar is supposed to be perfect. How can he lack anything?"

"I don't know," Raner said. "I don't have all the answers."

"Of course, you don't," I said. My voice was sharp, and I did not like it, but I also did not like not knowing.

"He wanted someone to love," Raner said. "A perfect being needs to love."

"Couldn't he just love himself, seeing as he is perfect? He'd love perfection." I stopped suddenly. "Fëanáro."

"What?"

"Nothing," I said. "Only he thinks he's perfect, but he creates things. He loves them. I can't believe I'm comparing Fëanáro to Ilúvatar."

"Neither can I really," Raner said. "Alassëa said you didn't like him."

"No, I don't," I said. "Do you think Ilúvatar likes things others make? I mean he makes perfect things, so how can he love imperfect ones."

"We're not perfect," Raner said. "And he made us."

"Maybe he doesn't love us," I said.

"Then why would he have the Valar keep us safe?"

"I don't know. I'm being silly. Alassëa is coming, greet her or she'll get jealous."

"All right," he said, "as long as you promise not to think so much."

"Promise," I said. But I didn't keep it.


	13. The Trial

**Chapter Twelve**

**The Trial**

A few weeks later, Raner and Alassëa were wed. It was quite a celebration, so I was surprised when my mother did not come down to see it. Her brother, Ilmarinen, was irritated by her absence and took to complaining to me about it.

"Why wouldn't she come?" Ilmarinen asked me over lunch two days after the wedding. "She's her niece. She came to all the other weddings. Why not my daughter's?"

"I don't know," I said. I scraped shrimp and scallops (food left over from the wedding) off the platter on to my plate.

"Did she mention anything to you?"

"No."

"Well, I just don't understand it."

I shrugged and plunged a scallop into a small bowl of butter. I bit it into the sweet and salty flesh.

Ilmarinen still looked troubled. He was not eating, only rearranging his food on his plate.

"Did you write to her?" I said.

"Of course, I did."

"Well, maybe she forgot."

"Your mother does not forget easily."

"Perhaps there was an accident," I said suddenly worried. "Perhaps, she did not mention it for fear of spoiling the wedding."

"Perhaps," Ilmarinen said quickly. "But perhaps, it was nothing. She got busy, couldn't make it down. You shouldn't worry."

I smiled, and we continued on with our meal in peace, yet still I was anxious. I decided to write to my family that evening. I wrote to Irissë, not because I was closest to her, but because she wrote back the fastest. I asked her what had happened in my absence and how everyone was, the usual questions. Lastly, I questioned about the rumours of unrest between our houses.

Two days later, her reply came in. I was sitting on the beach with my legs in the sand and my dove came flying back to me and landed on my shoulder. Strapped to its leg was a small roll of parchment. I opened it up immediately. This was what it said.

_Dearest Cousin,_

_As of yet, we are all well, but something horrible has happened._

_I am not sure if I should tell you, but I will anyway._

_For a long time now, we have been covering a storm,_

_but it has broken out at last. _

_Fëanáro has threatened my father's life. _

_He says he will kill father_

_if father ever speaks to the king again._

_My father is deeply troubled, and my brothers are angry._

They all wear swords now. The weapons the

_Valar gave us for the walk through the darkness,_

_but now it seems that the darkness has followed us here._

_I have tried to keep the peace, but no one will to listen to me._

_Your father is the only sane man left in the city._

_Please come home, I need you._

_Yours,_

_Irissë_

I read the letter over and over again, trying to make it say something else, but there it was. Fëanáro had threatened violence on my family. I stood up, crumpled the letter in my fist, and strode back to the palace. Ignoring everyone's looks and questions, I closed myself in my room. I looked at myself in the full-length mirror, at my burning red cheeks and my silly, yellow dress. Stripping the dress off, I threw it on the floor and stamped on it. I was a fool to be happy, a fool to think things would smooth over. Here I was being kept safely away from Tirion, while Irissë was there trying to keep the family together. I always thought I was the smart one, the strong one, but she was there, and I was here, a child who needed to be sent away, protected. I put on a pair of trousers, a tunic. I swept my hair back into braids and pinned them to sides of my head. Now I looked threatening, a tall woman leering at the glass. I turned and walked out the door, through the hall, out of the palace.

"Where are you going?" Ilmarinen asked me.

"Home," I said.

"Why?"

"There might be war in Tirion," I replied. I went to the stables. He followed me.

"What are you talking about?" he said.

"Irissë wrote. She said there had been trouble." I looked over the horses for my white stallion, Rilien. I called to him, and he came. I stroked his muzzle and told him we had to go to Tirion.

"Perhaps you should stay here," Ilmarinen cautioned.

I shook my head. "I have to go." I mounted, and Rilien galloped off, while I clutched his neck. Over the lands of Valinor, we rode stopping only now and then for water. By noon, we had reached Tirion. I let Rilien go to graze the green hills and walked alone up the crystal stairs to the palace. My heart pounded when I saw that swordsmen guarded the gates, but they let me pass without a word. The palace was chillingly silent. It had none of the laughter and joyous chatter that surrounded Alqualondë. It reminded me of the first time I had come to Tirion, my experience with Miriel, my first knowledge of death.

The palace smelt of incense, like the kind that was burnt when a beloved pet had died. I ran through the halls looking for my family. Someone called my name. I turned. Findekáno was standing there. He was dressed in his family's colours, blue and silver. His dark hair was pulled back in a braid and hanging from his belt was a sword. Its sheath was lustrous silver engraved with flowers, but that did not stop me from feeling sick.

"I thought you were in Alqualondë," he said.

"I came back."

"This is not such a good time. We're quite busy here. You should go back."

"I know what happened. Where is Irissë?"

"She's with father."

"Where's he?"

"In the study."

"Thank you," I said. I turned away from him.

"Wait," Findekáno said, "I'll walk with you."

As we walked together, I kept an eye on his sword, determined to become accustomed to its place on his hip, the way it moved with his leg, how it changed everything.

"How have you been?" I asked.

"Well," he said, but he did not sound it. "And you?"

"Very well."

We said no more. I felt as if I was walking with a stranger. Even his gait seemed abnormal, almost mechanical. We made it to the study. Ñolo was sitting at his desk, my father standing near him.

"Father," Findekáno said. "Artanis is here."

Ñolo turned and saw me. He shook his head. Irissë sprung up from a chair in the corner. She ran over to me, flung her arms around my neck, and kissed me.

"You came," she whispered. I nodded. She looked older somehow, wiser. Anguish had made her eyes softer but her other features more set. At least, she was still wearing white.

"When did you come back?" my father said.

"Just now," I said. "I rode in. I heard about Fëanáro. What's going to happen?"

"There is to be a trial," Ñolo said. "The Valar have taken the matter into their hands. I've asked that they have mercy on him. My father has already lost Miriel. His heart would be broken if he Fëanáro were taken from him as well."

"Have they said what might happen to him?"

"No," my father said. "Though if he is found guilty, he will be punished."

"He is guilty," Ñolo said. "He would have killed me if we were alone."

"We do not know that," my father said gently. "He could have just been angry, trying to frighten you."

"I saw it in his eyes," Ñolo said. "But I do not wish death upon him. Rather I wish he would be locked up for he is fey."

"You have guards posted at the gates," I said. "Do you fear an attack?"

"Not today," Ñolo said. "We have had them posted for a while now, since we first learned that he had made us his enemy."

"Who told you he about this?"

"A man stopped Turukáno in streets, said that there was word that Fëanáro wanted to drive Indis and her children from Tirion. Fëanáro has spent more time here as of late, speaking with the king alone. He has grown very proud."

"He was always proud," I said.

"Yes," Ñolo said. "He _was _always proud."

"Come, Artanis," Irissë said. "You must be hungry and tired from your journey."

She held out her arm, and I took it. She led me to the kitchens. There, servants brought us bread and honey and on Irissë's orders heavy wine.

"Tell me more about what's been happening," I said.

"Eat first, then we'll talk."

I complied, stuffing my mouth with bread.

"Do not eat so fast," she said. "You'll choke."

As for herself, she did not eat but took steady sips of wine and watched me.

"How was the wedding?" she said finally.

"Good."

"Did many people come?"

"Yes," I said, feeling that these questions were irrelevant given the situation.

"Your mother regretted not being able to make, but…" Irissë trailed off. She looked back over her shoulder at the door, as if she expected a spy.

"How long has this been going on?"

"Too long," she said. She looked down at her glass of wine. "Forever."

I shook my head. "Not forever. Since Fëanáro was born. He started this."

"And we came after," she said. "I don't remember before him."

I nodded and picked up my wine glass. We drained our glasses in silence.

"So how did the swords start?" I said.

"Everyone started getting suspicious of each other. Soon the men were plucking swords off the walls and putting them on their belts. But there weren't enough to go around. Oromë gave weapons only for the journey of one generation. That's when the forging began. Both Fëanáro and my father have overseen the making of great swords, spears, axes, weapons like we've never had before."

"How did they know to make them?"

"I don't know," Irissë said. "But I think it may have to do with Melkor."

"Melkor?"

"Yes, he has taught us much."

I frowned. "Why did Fëanáro threaten your father?"

"Fëanáro has been making speeches in the squares of Tirion and else where, saying that the Valar keep us here in thralldom. He says that the Valar have planted mortal usurpers in Middle-earth that shall rule the lands that were suppose to be ours. He shouted that we should tear down the Valar and become our own free people. My father grew worried and angry and went to his father the king. He asked that Finwë restrain Fëanáro, but Fëanáro came in as he spoke, and he told him to get out, and he put a sword to his throat and threatened him."

"Did your father fight back?"

"No, he had the sense to walk away. He went to your father. That was a long night."

I got up from the table peered out the wide kitchen windows at the world outside. Servants were going about their work with daggers and knives at their sides. It was so different than the Tirion I had left.

"Why didn't you write to me sooner?" I asked, turning back to Irissë. She was pouring herself another glass of wine, her raven hair falling over her face, hiding her tears.

"It was forbidden. They didn't want to alarm you."

They meant our mothers and fathers and possibly our brothers too.

"Why did you write to me now?"

"Everyone is being erratic. I needed someone to talk to. Besides you have a soothing affect on your brothers, so bringing you home seemed a wise enough decision."

"I see. Where are my brothers?"

"They are scattered throughout the city, ensuring it's fortified in case Fëanáro decides to attack before his trial."

"When is the trial to take place?"

"Tonight."

She looked up at me, her glass trembling in her hand. I took it from her.

"Don't," I said. I put the glass down on the table and wrapped my arms around her. "Don't worry. I'm here now. I'll stay with you. You don't have to be scared."

I ran my fingers through her hair, squeezed her shoulder. "It'll be all right. The Valar are just."

Irissë nodded, sniffling. She had broken down the moment I had pulled her close. How long she had needed this I did not know. I wondered why she had not gone to her mother. Maybe she thought Anairë already had too much to worry about. Whatever the reason, I held her, and we rocked back in forth. I took in her fear and her misery, made it mine, let my anger pass.

I was not present at trial of the Valar, but my father and Ñolo rode out before twilight to take part. They were back at dawn, their faces tired and grave. My father came into the throne room where the family was gathered. He kissed my mother and then turned and kissed my cheek.

"I'm happy you're here," he said sadly.

"What happened?" Findekáno asked. Aikanáro and Angaráto were standing on either side of him like guard dogs.

"Fëanáro has been banished," Ñolo said. "He shall remain in exile for twelve years."

"Twelve?" Turukáno said. "That is so few. He threatened to kill you."

"Where's Finwë?" Anairë said.

"He is gone into exile with him," Ñolo said.

"But he didn't do anything," Ëarwen said.

"No," said Ñolo, "It was not on the orders of the Valar."

He was silent, but another voice gave answer. Nerdanel had been standing by the door with Indis, but now she stepped forward, her leather shoes biting the floor.

"Finwë has exiled himself," she spat out. "To be near his beloved son. He believes that the Valar have treated him unjustly, sending him into exile. I suppose it is no surprise, Fëanáro has always been persuasive, a genius though a fool. I won't apologize for him, but I ask you to take care. Do not listen to Fëanáro, for his mind is twisted and his road from now on shall ever be crooked."

Nerdanel had crying. Her eyes were red. There was no sign of tears on Indis's face though. She was too shocked to weep. Her eyes staring blankly at everything, wondering what she had ever done to deserve such rejection. Nerdanel draped an arm around her shoulder and swept her from the room. My father followed them out.

"If Finwë is in exile, who shall rule Tirion?" Irissë asked, once the doors had closed behind them.

"I shall," Ñolo said. "For the time being, I shall be King of the Noldor."


	14. The Silmarils

Chapter 13

**The Silmarils**

I became more active in politics then. I had always been interested in the idea of influence and power, but now I attended every meeting and counsel I could. At first, I would only listen, taking in the vibrancy of the speakers, the passion or logic of their arguments, but soon I joined them in their word spray. I loved bouncing ideas off people, seeing how they reacted. I was no longer cautious as I had been as a child, afraid of the impact my words would have on my family. Fëanáro had been dethroned. I feared nothing, and I loved talking, shouting, gambling with reason and sentiment. I knew who the best orators were, and I learned from them. I learned how to speak with poise, when to say something and when to be silent. I revelled in it all. I left my mind open and soaked up people's impressions. They loved me, and I loved that they loved me.

I wanted to be worshipped. It was like being drunk without wine; there was no headache afterwards.

Sometimes Irissë would come with me, though she disliked the atmosphere. She would sit in the back, her hands on her knees, and shake her head at me. She thought I had gone crazy.

"Why can't we just all get along?" she said, after one particularly rousing debate. It was another one about Melkor. When the Valar had brought Fëanáro to trial, they had found that Melkor was the one behind all the doubt and suspicions going around. They had then determined to lock Melkor away again, but he had fled back to Middle-earth.

The debate focused on whether the Valar had put forth their full strength in finding Melkor or whether they had been lenient, as he was their kind. There were representatives there of the Vanyar and the Noldor, but none of the Teleri, who were generally less interested in law. The Vanyar were upset that Melkor had ever been released but thought that the Valar must be doing their best to contain him again, while the Noldor were more conflicted. Some wondered if there was still some truth to what Melkor had told them, while others were angry with the Valar for not putting forth more effort in finding Melkor. They thought that it was unfair that Fëanáro was being punished when Melkor was not.

I agreed with the Noldor on both points. I thought that Melkor should be punished but also that some of what Melkor said must be true. I had asked Aulë about the second-born children, the usurpers that the Noldor were all talking about. He had not denied it.

"Because," I said quickly, "everyone has their own opinion. Differing opinions lead to conflict, but that isn't wrong. If we were all the same, there would hardly be any sense in having more than one of us."

We were sitting eating pears under a tree in Valimar. It was a bright gold noon.

"I respect that people have differing opinions," Irissë said. "But why must they fight so? What use is there in all this arguing?"

"Arguing is what brought us life," I said. "If the Valar had not debated whether Finwë could marry again, we would never be born."

"I suppose that is true," Irissë said. "All the same, I wish that things would change back. I hate it all."

I nodded and understood. She wanted her half-cousins back, cousins to her. She did not think of them as half.

"Nerwen," Irissë said, touching my arm. "I have a favor to ask."

I looked down at her hand and smiled. "Yes."

"I need to see them," she said.

"Ten years is nothing," I said.

We had already had to endure two years of silence. The first year we were more or less in dread, waiting for Fëanáro to come back and reclaim the kingdom, but he had not. Melkor had also not returned. Now things were drifting towards an awkward normal. Awkward because we did not know how long our peace was going to last, while we acted like war had never been imminent. In our cellars, we continued to train in secret, gaining skills in the sword, the bow, and the spear. My father did not approve, but he did not report us to the Valar.

"No," she said. "I want to go now." She stood up. She swept her long, black hair back behind her ears and looked resolutely northward, and I thought for the thousandth time about how closely she resembled Finwë.

"Are you sure that would be wise?" I asked, also standing up. "They might not want to see you."

"Why wouldn't they?" Irissë said. "Their trouble was never with me."

"Why don't you ask one of your brothers? I am sure Findekáno is missing Maitimo."

"He is," she said. "But he won't admit to it. He is being loyal to father now, and he can be very stubborn. He would probably tell me not to go."

"And so do I," I said. "Give it time. The wounds are deep right now."

"Yes," Irissë said. "But they will fester into bitterness if we leave them alone. Besides my grandfather is there. I have a right to visit him."

I nodded again. We walked, crossing a bridge over a stream. The water was blue blue and the fish in it were a deep yellow orange. I wanted to put my hand in and catch one, feel the slippery creature flap against my hand, but I did not. I kept walking, close to Irissë.

"Why me?" I whispered. "Why don't you just go by yourself?"

"He used to like you," Irissë said.

I shook my head. "No," I said. "That's a horrible reason."

She stopped and stared at me.

"I don't understand," she said. "He made you apprentice. What's wrong with that?"

"Nothing," I said quickly, dropping my gaze. "I don't want to go. I don't want to see him."

"We could visit when he's away."

"There would be no point," I said.

"I don't want to go alone," Irissë said. Her silver-grey eyes pleaded.

I turned away. "It would be pointless."

"You could see Tyelpë," Irissë said. "He's missed you."

"What makes you say that?" I asked. It had been a while since I had thought of Tyelpë, my little playmate. He was Curufinwë's boy, and Curufinwë was Fëanáro's, and I didn't want to think about Fëanáro.

"He said that. He came to Tirion when you were gone."

"Oh," I said. I looked at the sky. It was blue and gold, like Manwë. I wondered why those were his colours. I wondered why people chose certain colours to represent themselves, what it meant. My father had chosen gold and green, because they reminded him of life and growing. Ñolo had chosen blue and silver; they reminded him of moving water and change. And Fëanáro, he chose red. Red was for fire and blood. It was wounds, and it was burning. I could see Fëanáro breaking the sky. He would use a hammer.

"What are you thinking about?" Irissë said.

"Mad thoughts," I said. "I'll go with you."

Her whole face radiated in a smile. She threw her arms about me and kissed me.

"You won't regret this," she said.

* * *

><p>The air around Formenos was cooler than the air in Valimar, and everything in it seemed greyer. Instead of the bright gold or multi-coloured marble that made up the city of the Vanyar, Formenos had been built quickly from cold, grey granite. It looked strong and uninviting with its iron gates and high walls. I was about to suggest we head back or tarry outside a little, but Irissë was not at all deterred. She strode over to the gates and shook them until a servant came running up.<p>

"Let me in," she demanded, as if she belonged there.

The servant rushed to open the gate. "I'm sorry for keeping you waiting," he said, holding the gate open for her. She nodded, as if he should be. I followed her in.

"Where are my cousins?" Irissë asked.

"Curufinwë is in the forge," the servant said. "I think Tyelkormo is gone hunting. I am uncertain about the others."

"Thank you," Irissë said, with a toss of her hair. She seized my arm, and I noticed then that her fingers were trembling. She pinched my skin in an effort to steady them. Silently, we went on. She had not asked where the forge was, so we had to find it on our own. She was too proud to go back and ask directions.

The forge was a large one, also made from granite. Inside, it was hot and dark. Curufinwë was bent over an anvil, striking his hammer against hot steel. The metal glowed orange in the dark. Curufinwë's son stood near by. He was stacking sheets of metal. He looked up, saw us, and gasped. Irissë pressed a finger to her lips. We waited until Curufinwë had put his hammer down before Irissë said, "Hello."

Curufinwë's head jerked up. He stared at her with wide, bewildered eyes then he smiled.

"Irissë," he said. He looked down in embarrassment at the anvil where the metal was still bright. "Why don't we go somewhere else?"

He walked forward and took her by the arm. He looked at me.

"Artani_þ_," he said. He stressed the _þ_ to irritate me. I held my chin high and smiled.

"Atarinke," I said with a nod of recognition. He hated his mother's name, and I was no friend of his, so I shouldn't use it anyway. He said nothing though, just led us out of the forge. Irissë held priority here. She should not be in the same place as the weapons that were meant to kill her father.

Tyelpë followed us. No, he was not Tyelpë anymore. He was Telperinquar. What a beautiful name, silver-hand. His hands _were _lovely. They were muscled and long-fingered like Fëanáro's. He looked so much like his grandfather. His face had hardened over the years, so now in some lights it looked as if it had been chiselled from stone. His shoulders were broad, and his grey eyes held the same fire as Fëanáro's, dimmer perhaps but still there. He was a bit taller than me, and I watched his proud strides, comparing them to the prancing gait he had as a child. I had missed him.

Curufinwë brought us inside the house and set us down in the dining room. He placed Irissë and me on one side of an old oak wood table, and he took a chair opposite us. He told Telperinquar to bring us refreshments, and Tyelpë trudged off reluctantly. He _was _Tyelpë still. He might grumble, but he would obey. I always loved that about him.

"How have you been?" Curufinwë asked Irissë. His tone was polite, not mocking or pressing, just friendly. I tried to find an ulterior motive, but he seemed genuinely glad to see her.

"I have been doing very poorly," Irissë said. "I hate being pressed between our fathers' squabbles. I can't take it anymore. Please, we have to do something."

"Marry Turko," Curufinwë said.

"Tyelkormo?" I said startled.

"He's my cousin," Irissë said at the same time.

"Half-cousin," Curufinwë said with a smile. "That's what the whole squabble is about, but Irissë if you married Turko you could bring our houses back together, create peace at last. I hate the fighting as much as you do."

I could not believe what I was hearing. Curufinwë was proposing marriage for his brother? Did he really hate the fighting enough to do that? I had never considered Curufinwë a terrible person, reserving that judgement for his father, but I had never thought him a diplomat either.

"Or," Irissë said, "I could be torn even more. What makes you think anyone would approve of this marriage?"

"Turko would," Curufinwë said. "He likes you."

"As a friend," Irissë said. "And I like him too, but not like that. He's my cousin."

Curufinwë sighed deeply. "Look," he said. "It would be the logical thing to do."

"How so?" I said. "You'd be putting Irissë in the line of attack."

"My father loves Irissë," Curufinwë said. "He wouldn't hurt her."

Irissë folded her arms, irritated that we were talking about her like she was not there.

"Ñolo would not be happy," I said, choosing to ignore her.

"He'll get used to the idea," Curufinwë said. "If the two of them act like they are madly in love, people will start caving. They always do. Past arguments will be forgotten."

"For a time," I said. "But they'll come back again. Problems like ours don't just disappear. They're not solved so easily, Atarinke."

Curufinwë bit down hard on his lip, his eyes flashing. He calmed himself though. Turning, he smiled at Irissë.

"You will consider it?" he said. She looked out the window. It was drizzling. The large leavedmulleins in the garden were wet and shown like silver.

"I guess," she said.

"I would marry you," Curufinwë said, "if I weren't already tied down, but I had noticed you were particularity fond of Tyelkormo."

"As a friend," she mumbled. She stood up, pushing her chair back behind her. The chair legs screeched against the wooden floor.

"Let's not talk about this," I said to Curufinwë. "It's silly. You're making her upset."

"All right," Curufinwë said. "We don't have to discuss it now, but I still think it would be good to keep it as a consideration. Anyhow, what brings you to Formenos?"

"Can't we visit you without a formal reason?" said Irissë. "I missed you."

Curufinwë smiled. "Good enough reason." He took her hand and kissed it. "You've grown into such a lady."

She rolled her eyes. Telperinquar walked back into the room, carrying a platter of bread, cheese, cold chicken, and sweetmeats. He set it on the table.

"Where are your brothers, Curvo?" Irissë said.

Curufinwë glanced at the window and shrugged. "Different places."

"Father," Tyelpë said hesitantly. "Can I show Artanis the jewels?"

"Which ones?" Curufinwë said. Though I could see from his eyes that he knew which ones his son was talking about.

"The Silmarils," Tyelpë said.

"Those are to be kept private," Curufinwë said. His voice had grown cold, and his eyebrows met low over his steel grey eyes.

"But she's never seen them," said Tyelpë.

"Her loss," Curufinwë snapped. "She should have remained our friend."

Tyelpë slouched in his chair. He looked like he might cry. I wondered why. He was a rather sensitive lad, but it seemed such a silly thing to cry over.

"It's all right," I said, reaching across the table and rubbing his wrist. "I've heard enough about them to have a pretty fixed notion of what they look like. People are always going on and on about the Silmarils, but there are hundreds of white gems in Aman. I can live without seeing three."

Both Curufinwë and Tyelpë stared at me in shock. Irissë flushed and hid her face in her hands.

"You speak blasphemy," Curufinwë said. His hand rolled into a fist, and I thought he might strike me, but Tyelpë seized his arm.

"She's never seen them," Tyelpë said.

Curufinwë stood up and paced the floor. He wrung his hands and looked at the windows and the door. He turned back to us and said: "Then she shall see them, and she will take her words back, or I shall…" He paused and shook his head. "She will love them. They all do. Every sceptic, even those who hate jewels – they all succumb to the Silmarils."

"You're serious about this?" I said. I thought they must have been joking.

"You've never seen them," said Tyelpë.

"Come," Curufinwë said. "And come quickly. My father can't know about this. He'd kill me, but come."

We followed him. Formenos was built more like fort than a home. There were dark tunnels with strong doors on either side (all of them closed). Fëanorian lamps hung from the wall, shedding cold light on cold stone. Whenever we came across someone, Curufinwë would send him or her off on some chore or other. He did not want anyone to witness what we were doing. I wondered why he would put himself through all this risk just to prove a point.

_He doesn't want to lose. He doesn't want to lose to a child of Arafinwë. _

I smirked but held my tongue. We kept on going deeper and deeper into Formenos, where there were no windows, only grey walls and light.

"We're here," Tyelpë whispered to me.

I didn't know what to feel: anxious, relieved, grateful, terrified, or bored. We had come to an iron door. Curufinwë pulled a key from his pocket.

"I am the only one who has one," he said. "Besides father and Finwë."

He slid the key in the lock, turned it. Irissë was leaning forward, trying to look past him into the room. He opened the door.

"Come in," he said. The room was empty, except for a small, iron box on an iron pedestal. Curufinwë pulled another key out of his pocket and used it to unlock the box.

"Come here," he said, beckoning to me.

I walked forward. He opened the lid of the box, and then there they were. It was like opening a box full of candles, the surprise of finding light. The Silmarils were more exquisite than candlelight though. They were the finest jewels I had ever seen. I could not even bring myself to call them that, for how could they be made of stone? They had a pulse. They breathed in and out. They blinked and winked and glistened. They saw me and knew me, and I knew them. It was like looking at a soul. My soul. No, Fëanáro's. Ours. Arda's. I was not certain. I wanted to touch them, but Curufinwë would not let me. He took both my wrists in his hand and pushed me back. He closed the box. I cried out as he locked it. I was trembling. He smiled.

"What do you say now?" he said.

I looked at the box. My hands shook. I was speechless.

"You take back your words earlier?"

"Yes, yes, yes," I said quickly, hoping I could see them again. They were bright and flawless. I envied them, though they were locked in iron. I could never be as immovable as them, never as perfect. I started to breathe again. I had not realized I had stopped.

"Good," Curufinwë said. He took me by the arm to lead me out of the room. "I hope you got a good look, because it isn't likely you'll see them again anytime soon."

The memory of the light still filled me. I felt very pleased for no reason. "Thank you," I said and kissed his cheek. Startled, he pulled back.

"You are welcome," he said. His eyes were narrowed in suspicion, but I was blind to all bad feelings.

"Why are they locked away?" I asked. "They want to be in the light. They want to talk to people."

"Because," Curufinwë said, slowly as if to a child, "people would take them, and Father could not bear to live without them. But come now, we should go back."

We left the box, the room, the corridor, Formenos, but still in my mind, I could see them. I would replay that bewitching memory again and again. It was always fresh.


	15. Reunion

Chapter 14

**Reunion**

I woke early on the day of the Festival and dressed in the dim light of Telperion. I walked through the halls of Tirion. Already others were awake. The aroma of baked bread lifted from the kitchen. I was tempted by it but went instead out into the garden. Nerdanel was there, standing by her statues, but she was not at work. Her gaze was northward. She turned when I tried to pass her.

"Artanis," she said. I bowed. There was sorrow in her grey eyes. "You are up early."

"Yes," I said. "So are you."

"My husband will be released today. Your uncle is very forgiving."

"That he is," I said. Ñolo had gone to the Valar many times to ask that Fëanáro be brought out of exile, and after five, they had listened. Twelve years had been their sentence, now Fëanáro would be relieved of seven.

"I hope," she said, "that we may be reconciled. I hope that he will learn now, he must listen." She shook head and looked at her wedding ring. "I love him. I love him still, despite his flaws. I cannot help it. There is no one like him. I have failed to keep him out of harm."

"My lady," I said, "It is not your fault."

She smiled sadly at me. "He came to me, looking for a mother. I was young but older than he. He looked a man, but he was a child grown too fast, eager to learn, eager to know life. He had runway from home, because of his stepmother. He spoke hatefully of her. I was so surprised when I finally met Indis. She was nothing like his remarks. But he was a child, bereft of one parent and then he thought another, and he would not be convinced otherwise or consoled."

"He was untamable they said, but he listened to me. He worshipped me, and I loved him dearly. When I ran or climbed, he would follow me. If he fell down, I would pull him up and kiss away the hurt. Sometimes I wonder if we should have waited to wed. He was a child raising children. He had no time to grow up on his own."

I didn't know what to say. Often people told me their troubles, though I could not understand why. I seldom had solutions. I only listened.

"You are not his mother," I said finally. "And even if you were, you would not be held responsible for his actions."

"I know," she said. Her long hair caught in the wind, and I was struck again by the color – red. It glowed like the shell of a chestnut. Often people questioned why Fëanáro had taken Nerdanel to wife. She was no beauty. He could have picked from hundreds of lovely maidens, but I could see what he had seen. She was beautiful in her own rare way, fathomless and strong. If anyone could control Fëanáro, she would.

"Will he stay for the feast afterwards?" I asked.

She shook her head. "I do not know. It has been long since we last talked. I do not know what is going on in his mind."

"Well, I wish you the best." I bowed again. When I left her, she was again looking northward.

I walked on through the garden to the blackberry patch by one of the south walls. It was harvest time, and the blackberries were huge and heavy on the drooping branches. I ate berry after berry, treasuring the lingering sweetness.

"Morning," said a voice from behind. I turned to see Findaráto.

"Happy Festival," I said, smiling.

He smiled back. "Happy Festival."

"Where were you last night?" I asked. I teased him with a berry, putting it near his mouth and then pulling it back.

"With Amarië. I was helping with her father's harvest. I thought you knew." Findaráto stole his own berries from the bush. He put a handful all at once in his mouth and stained his lips purple.

"No," I said, laughing. "No one told me."

"Well, that's what I was doing. No secret." He smiled again. The light of Laurelin was slowly growing, and it illuminated Findaráto's red-gold hair. He looked beautiful, like he had been crowned in copper, and I wondered why I always adored red hair: Maitimo's, Nerdanel's, my brother's.

I shook the thought from my head. "When are you planning on marrying her?"

"What?" He dropped the branch he was pulling down.

"You have been courting her for years. People would love a royal wedding. It would distract them from all these disputes in our house."

"Amarië and I are not going to be a distraction." There is a hint of irritation in Findaráto's voice. "We want to wait until things settle down a bit before we wed."

"Sensible," I said. "Boring." I smiled though because I was happy that he wouldn't be leaving Tirion. But perhaps, he wouldn't leave, even if he married. Turukáno and Elenwë took turns living in Tirion and Valimar, and lately, they had rooted themselves quite firmly in Túna, as they had found a good teacher there for their little daughter Itarillë.

We set out early for Taniquetil, bringing food with us though there would be plenty there. We did not want to appear ungenerous. The weather was warm though windy, the perfect kind according to Irissë. She was happy to be riding in the open air and sang almost all the way there. We arrived in Valimar near mid-morning and released our horses to go where they pleased. The city smelt like it had been doused in perfume. Flowers were everywhere, even strewn on the streets. We went up the mountain. It was strange climbing is party clothes. I kept worrying that my dress would catch on a rock and tear, and as it was nearly ankle length I had to lift it often so I would not trip. Perhaps, I should not have worn something else, but it had been a gift from Aulë: a red, silk gown. Aulë often gave away presents to his students and followers, and I was no exception.

The rest of my family was shambling along as well, some faring better than others, but everyone was so joyful they did not care if they looked awkward. The greatest feast since the coming of us Eldar was going to take place. Fëanáro would be pardoned. He and Ñolofinwë would be reconciled. Our king was coming back. There was a lot to look forward to.

There was still unease tapping into our euphoria. Fëanáro might not accept the pardon, might not reconcile with his half-brother. Still, most of us thought that Fëanáro would not be foolish enough for that. Yes, he had made grave mistakes, but he would not disobey the wishes of the Valar outright. No one had done that before, except maybe Miriel, but she was dead.

We arrived at the halls of Manwë and Varda, where there was a great host already. The cities of the Noldor and Vanyar must have been stripped for their people were all there. Some even of the Teleri had come, though most had stayed in their pearl city. (The Teleri lived mainly off the sea and did not account harvest as such a blessed thing. In many ways, the Teleri were separate from the others of the Eldar, living their own free, mostly idle lives.) But food from every region of Aman was laid out on long tables.

The Valar had taken upon bodily forms for the Festival, as they did for many festivals, so they could eat and drink and dance like everyone else. Often, they tried blending in with the crowds, but it was usually easy enough to pick them out. There was always something that gave them away: blue hair, yellow eyes, scales, feathers, leaves growing from their skin, something. I think though that they secretly wanted to be found out. In any case, they were not even trying that day. Yavanna strode over to me. She was tall and lithe, brown-skinned, and grey-eyed. Her prickly dark green hair was decorated with pinecones.

"Are you wearing dead caterpillars?" she asked, looking down at my dress.

"Your spouse gave it to me," I said quickly.

"Aulë, why are you corrupting this child?" Yavanna said. Aulë was seated near by, talking to Tulkas. Both of them had manifested themselves in forms we were used to. Both were bearded and burly. Aulë was wearing a lavishly embroidered robe, while Tulkas was wearing a simple white tunic that left bare his arms, shoulders, and legs. Tulkas was very proud of physical body for he was the Valar's champion, their great fighter.

"It's beautiful cloth," said Aulë.

"Made by killing innocent creatures."

Aulë looked uncomfortable. He turned to Tulkas, who shrugged and smiled, enjoying the entertainment.

"Sometimes," said Aulë, "sacrifices must be made."

"Did you ask the victims if they wanted to be sacrificed?"

"No," said Aulë. "They're insects." Tulkas laughed and lifted his wine glass.

Yavanna sighed deeply. "After all their struggles, they never even got a chance to fly."

"I don't think they can think," said Aulë.

"They can feel," Yavanna snapped. "They have been denied the feel of crawling from their cocoons and flying away into the night."

"Would you like me to change?" I asked. I was feeling rather sad about the silkworms. Silk was beautiful, but I did not like to see Yavanna so upset. She was my teacher. She had taught me how to sing trees to life and grow many things. I loved and respected her.

Yavanna stared at the gown for a long time then shook her head. "What good would that do?" she said. 'They are already dead. Wear the gown, and think of those who contributed to its making. Think of the lives lost, the sacrifice."

She walked off dramatically. Soon after I saw her talking to my father and hoped he was not getting hit with a "you're raising your daughter wrong" speech. Soon though I had forgotten all about the dress and the silkworms. I was wrapped up in the festivities. I spend most of the day with my brothers, Amarië, and Turukáno and Elenwë. The couple sent Itarillë off to play with other children her age, and we went around Manwë's halls, exploring.

After we were done sneaking into the inner rooms of Ilmarin, we hungrily returned to the great dining hall. We took plates and filled them with all manner of food, telling each other not to take something if one of us already had it. We could share, thus increasing our food's variety. We settled near a fountain to devour our spoils.

"I can't believe Manwë has a bed," said Aikanáro.

"Why?" I said. "The Valar can sleep if they choose."

"Yes, and that seems strange to me too. Why would they sleep if they don't have to?"

"Maybe," said Elenwë with a smile, "they enjoy sleeping."

"Yes," said Angarato. "Not everyone likes staying up at all hours like you do."

"I wonder if Manwë and Varda ever sleep together," I said.

"What?" said Amarië.

'Sleep together as in sleep," said Aikanáro, "or as in the other kind of sleep together?"

"The Valar cannot have children," said Turukáno.

"Are they unable?" I asked. "Or do they just refrain from it? They are able to take physical forms that eat and drink, can they not reproduce as well?"

"They can," said Findaráto. He had sat quietly through most of our chatter, having taken up the habit of acting like an adult in public, much to the exasperation of my other brothers and me.

"They can?" said Artaher.

"Yes," said Findaráto. "In theory, their physical bodies could create new life. I asked Manwë once, and he said so. But remaining in physical form can be very straining on their spirits, and Ilúvatar does not will the Valar to have children, as he does with us."

"Oh," said Elenwë, "that's very interesting, I wonder if they – "

But she never finished her sentence, for at that moment, we were interrupted. My father came running up.

"Come," he said, "Fëanáro is finally here."

We leapt up at once and followed him, returning to our family. My mother took my hand and squeezed it, Anairë pulled Irissë against her, and Elenwë lifted Itarillë up into her arms. Turukáno stood by them, Findis and Lalwen were close to Indis, and my brothers surrounded their father like guards. Findekáno was nearest the aisle and looked towards his father. Ñolo was standing quietly by Manwë's throne.

Fëanáro strode through the room, not looking once to the left or the right. He was not dressed in festival garb but in his everyday clothes. They were worn and sweat stained, as if he had just been called away from the forge. His features were touched with arrogance and disdain but also worry. He looked half in fear at the Valar who stood about Manwë's throne.

"Where is your father Finwë?" said Manwë, when Fëanáro was standing upon the great steps of the throne.

"He is not coming," said Fëanáro. My family exchanged nervous glances. My mother 's grip on my hand tightened. "He sends word though: 'While the ban lasts upon Fëanor my son, that he may not go to Tirion, I hold myself unkinged, and I will not meet my people.' That was his message."

"His words or yours, I wonder," said Tulkas.

Fëanáro cast a dark look at him. "Wouldn't you know?"

Ñolo shifted and begged with his eyes for Fëanáro to behave.

"And you have left also yours sons and Silmarils?" said Varda. Her voice was calm and cold like the serene snow drifts on her mountain.

"Yes," said Fëanáro. He sounded tired. The eyes of the Valar were pressing down on him, and he shriveled like a worm in the sun. I wanted to feel triumph. The man who had debased my family was now being shamed before the multitudes. Yes, I wanted to feel victorious, but I felt pity instead. I could feel his sorrow inside me, and it made me sick, like the time in childhood when I had swallowed handfuls of green berries and later thrown up in the great hall. I was ashamed to be staring at Fëanáro, as if he was on display, but still I stared, like the rest of the crowd, unable to look away.

"Please," said Ñolo, his eyes lifted to Manwë. 'May I?"

"You may," Manwë said quietly.

Ñolo stepped forward and held out his hand to Fëanáro.

"As I promised," he said. "I do now. I release thee, and remember no grievance."

Fëanáro hesitated but then stretched out his hand and took his brother's. He said nothing though. It was Ñolo who broke the silence.

'Half-brother in blood," he said, "full brother in heart will I be. Thou shalt lead and I will follow. May no new grief divide as."

Fëanáro's eyes widened and one brow lifted, but he did not smile or sneer.

"I hear thee," said Fëanáro "So be it."

And then everything went dark.


End file.
